A Light in the Darkness
by Kerrigas
Summary: Since the Tombkeepers Initiation, Marik's dark side has grown and grown, threatening to consume him. When a mysterious thief offers him freedom and a new life, will Marik throw away everything he has been taught and find freedom across the sands? future citronshipping
1. Chapter 1: Initiation

**.:Author's Note:.**

To those who didn't read the summary, this is a Sickle/Citronshipping fic set in Ancient Egypt. I'm also writing this on a whim and primarily concentrating on my own fictionpress slash story, so updates to this story may be irregular.

**Edit:** I've organized this story into three parts. Part one is now complete, part two is shorter and set directly after it, and still a work in progress, and part three is set after a short time gap and likely about as long as part one.

**Warnings:** Part one is non-slash, part two is pre-slash, and part three will have slash. Violence, blood/gore, and foul language are present in each part.

Anywho, enjoy, and please review.

-DxH

...

Chapter One: Initiation

...

_Darkness._

_Unwavering, deep, darkness the color of solitude and misplaced desperation. It was a darkness so black I couldn't see my fingertips when they tore at my eyes, and neither could I compare it to anything I had ever seen, not the deepest, darkest cave nor the thickest, purest ebony._

_It was dark, and it was silent. Not a single sound. Only darkness, silence, nothing. Nothing. I reached out. I took a step forward. Nothing._

_I bent over to touch the ground, but there was nothing. As far as I ran, there were no walls, no doors, no light. Nowhere to escape the dark._

_Here, in this darkness, I waited. Patiently. For what? I don't know. But there was nothing else I could do. So I waited._

The morning sun rose above the mountainous horizon of Egypt, a brilliant orange globe tamed by the early morning and surrounded by a blanket of purple and fuchsia. The sun's rays settled calmly over soft dunes and sun bleached mounds of stone and rock hundreds of feet tall.

Civilization rested here and there, beside the occasional oases' of green-leafed date palms and shallow rivers surrounded by bushes of pink and green laurels. Cubic houses of clay and straw nestled amidst the towering trees housed entire families, and were generally spaced out between large plots of land growing various crops tough-headed enough to stand the sun's heavy lashings over the long summer. Small markets ran through the larger villages. Narrow streets bustled with merchants and traders, vendor, peddlers, and hawkers calling out in wind-hoarse voices. Small stalls squeezed together along the walls of the streets, making up for their size in color and commodities. As crowds of olive-skinned men and women buzzed through the streets, sellers bared their goods atop colorful table-scarves, presenting riches from exotic fruits to silver jewelry to exquisite embroidery and clothes of fibers dyed in peacock colors.

Far, far away from the bustling crowds and exotic colors, beneath the surface of the patient desert, a boy lay sleeping. His skin remained a traditional olive tone, though paler from lack of exposure to the sun, and his features defined a delicate youth, still a mere child. His long-lashed eyes were closed and lined with dark kohl, and twitched in his sleep, as though restless. The boy breathed softly and steadily, nudging at a shock of dirty blond hair which settled just past his shoulders.

A small sound from close by awakened the boy. He released a small sigh, his hand curling into a loose fist, and slowly opened his eyes, blinking absentmindedly. He nudged at an amethyst eye with one hand and stiffly sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his wood-supported white cot. He looked around the plain, familiar space that made up his room; a russet colored square space furnished only with his bed, a small wooden dresser, and a palm-wood table covered in calligraphy scrolls, old, leather bound books, and a few charcoal pencils. The room was dimly lit by several oil candles which flickered and wavered on their think wicks.

Dressed only in a long white tunic, the boy left his bed and padded quietly towards the door. He opened it and peered out into the dark corridor, an expanse lit by several torches bound to the wall. He left the door partly open behind him and scurried down the hallway on tiptoe until he reached a thick wooden door. Here he stopped, pressed his right ear against the door, and listened.

Slightly muffled voices reverberated from the other side of the door.

"Don't you think it's too early? He's still just a child. The initiation could kill him!" he heard a soft, feminine voice say frantically.

Initiation? Kill? The boy shivered.

"Nonsense. He is strong, unlike his mother." Berated a deeper voice, rough with age. "I myself acquired the marks of the initiation at twelve. He is of age."

"Please, father. You don't understand. Marik is not as strong as you are. He does not understand the weight of this future. The pain itself, he won't be able to –"

"That's enough, Ishizu. He is my only heir, and he will undertake the initiation."

Before the boy could hear more, a large hand snaked from behind him and clamped itself around his mouth. He released a muffled yelp and struggled against the firm grip until his captor knelt beside him, his hand still pressed to the boy's mouth.

"Come, master Marik, you should not be here." Whispered a tall young man clad in a similar white tunic with dark, slanted eyes. His head was completely shaved save for a long extension of black hair tied up by a leather thong at the back of his head. The young boy, Marik, relaxed and nodded. The two hurried back to Marik's room, where they closed the door and settled on the bed. After a few minutes of silence, Marik looked up at the older boy.

"Rishid, what exactly did sister mean by the 'initiation?' And what's a tombkeeper? I've heard dad mention it to me a few times, but I'm not really sure what it means. What does it have to do with me?" Rishid's eyes widened slightly, but he quickly averted his gaze, a troubled look upon his features.

"The initiation… is a ceremony. It means that you're ready to accept your responsibilities as keeper and guardian of the Tomb's secrets."

"If I go through the initiation, does that mean that I'll be able to go to the surface?" Marik asked, a tinge of hope seeping through his voice. Rishid sighed.

"I doubt it." He replied quietly. The duties of the Tombkeeper require your attention to remain on duties here underground. You may be able to go up once in a while if something comes up, but… I do not think you will have much of an opportunity."

Marik glanced at Rishid then down to his hands.

"I see." He replied quietly, his expression crestfallen. He suddenly remembered Ishizu's words and stiffened.

"Rishid?" He asked, "The initiation. Does it hurt?" Rishid bit his lip and looked down, his features contorted.

"I –" Before he could say any more, the door to the room opened, and a man and woman entered the room. Rishid rose stiffly and bowed his head in greeting. The woman, a young lady younger than Rashid but old enough to claim womanhood, was clad in a white robe clashing with her long ebony hair which cascaded down her shoulders. She was blessed with soft features and enviable beauty, delicate olive skin, large blue eyes, and long, dark lashes. She nodded towards Rishid. The man beside her was a tall, intimidating person despite his age with shaggy pale blond hair matching a thick beard and dark, stern, violet eyes. He, however, barely acknowledged Rishid and locked his eyes on the young boy before him, who flinched under his gaze.

"Marik, have you completed your studies for the week? Your tutor will arrive soon." Marik nodded weekly. Aknadin Ishtar walked over to the wooden desk and pushed around a few papers, letting several scrolls clatter and roll to the ground. He perused various documents and, with a satisfied grunt, dropped them back onto the desk, scattering papers along the floor.

He strode back to Marik and looked down at him purposefully.

"In a few days time, you will receive the Tombkeeper's initiation." He said gravely. "Make no mistake. This is no flimsy ceremony, but a ritual crucial to your future. The initiation will pass along to you a most ancient secret, and it will be your duty to protect this secret, and the Sennen Items, with your life. Do you understand?" Marik nodded uncertainly.

"Father please –" Ishizu began, pleadingly. Aknadin silenced her with a sharp glare. Rishid clenched his fist and stepped forward defensively in front of Marik, facing the Ishtar Family's patriarch.

"Father, please allow me to take Marik's place. He is too young and frightened, and he may not survive such an ordeal. If you allow me to –" Rishid was abruptly stopped as Aknadin's hand flew out and struck Rishid across the face with a resonating crack. Marik released a small squeak of alarm and Ishizu stifled a yelp, but Rishid simply remained in place, his face slightly inclined to the side and his eyes wide with shock. A red welt began to form on his cheek, but he only clenched his fists even tighter.

"You are no son of mine." Aknadin hissed angrily. "You will never claim the position of Tombkeeper. That duty is only for the legitimate heir of the Ishtars." He turned back towards Marik, his eyes boring deep into the boy. Marik began to quiver under the pressure of the gaze and averted his eyes.

"Look at me!" Aknadin roared. Marik flinched, biting back tears and looked up at his father.

"You will carry out the initiation. I expect you to be ready on the say of the seventh sun." Aknadin said in a softer tone. Marik nodded, blinking back the tears which threatened to fall. Marik's father narrowed his eyes and nodded before turning on his heel and striding out of the room.

As soon as his footsteps could no longer be heard echoing down the corridor, Ishizu burst into tears. She fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands and sobbing openly. Rishid hurried to her side and knelt beside her, wrapping an arm protectively around her trembling shoulders. Marik remained seated on the bed tears sliding down his face, more shocked and confused at his sister's sudden breakdown than his own sudden predicament.

"Sis?" He said tentatively, standing up and taking a step forward. "Rishid, what's wrong with Ishizu?" he asked imploringly. Rishid glanced up and placed a finger to his lips. Marik immediately closed his mouth and watched helplessly as his sister wept openly in Rishid's arms.

The morning of the seventh sun, Marik lay quietly in his room, expecting in a sullen, hollow way. He was still uncertain of what lay before him. All he knew was that he had been raised for the sole purpose of guarding the tomb of a once great Pharaoh and to protect the powerful items buried with him.

"What's the point of guarding the corpse of a long dead guy anyway?" Marik muttered into his pillow. He started upright as his door suddenly slammed open. Aknadin's figure appeared through the doorway. He met Marik's eyes and made a beckoning motion with one hand.

"Get up." He ordered. "It's time." Marik felt a shudder run through his body but obediently clambered out of bed and followed after his father. Marik treaded after his father down the long corridor and through several large chambers supported by wide pillars. Torches braced to the walls flickered as they passed, sending ominous shadows to tear at the walls around them.

With every step, Marik felt his feet grow heavier and heavier. His breathing began to accelerate with his pulse and a light sweat formed along his brow. He father suddenly stopped in front of a large wooden double-door. Before opening it, he turned to regard Marik. Marik stumbled to a halt behind his father and looked up tentatively. Aknadin looked over his son's face and sighed. He reached out a hand and gripped Marik firmly by the shoulder. Marik blinked startled, and looked up into his father's eyes. The man returned his gaze for a few minutes before turning away, his hand retreating from Marik's shoulder.

Marik followed his father into a large chamber. A fireplace on the right of the room sheltered a small fire which glowed red hot on a bed of burning coals. The space was relatively empty except for a large, rectangular table made of gray stone slate. An iron ring protruded from either side of the table, and, to Marik's increasing discomfort, coils of rope and a variety of sharpened knives hung from the wall on the left.

"Father, what are those for?" Marik asked quietly, his voice trembling.

"Your safety." Aknadin replied, refusing to expand. Marik felt a sudden urge to escape far away but bit his lip and stood his ground.

A strange man in a dark cloak stood in a shadowed corner, watching them through piercing green eyes. Aknadin and the man exchanged a few words before Aknadin turned and began to walk towards the door. Suddenly struck by a lance of fear, Marik grabbed at his father's cloak.

"Father, where are you going? Don't leave me here!" He pleaded, tears springing to his eyes. Aknadin paused but tore his cloak from Marik's grip and strode out of the room. Marik called out and made to follow him, but was suddenly held back as the strange man's hand gripped his wrist. Marik yelped and struggled, but the stranger's grip on his arm tightened painfully. Suddenly, the man dragged him towards the table and slammed him down. Marik let out a small bark of pain as his head connected with the table. His vision went fuzzy and he was vaguely aware of his hands being tied together in front of him. Marik felt his body hoisted up and dropped ungallantly atop the table. He groaned as a sharp pain stabbed through his arms. Marik blinked, clearing his head, and realized that his wrists had been tied together by a rope and bound tightly to the iron hoop at the front end of the table.

Marik heard a noise behind him and swung his face around. His body suddenly froze, his voice caught, and all the blood in his body suddenly ran cold. The sinister, green-eyed man pulled a long, thin knife from the fireplace and advanced upon Marik, the knife one hand and a long white cloth in the other. Marik fought against the rope, thrashing wildly and screaming. Tears ran down the boy's face as fear and desperation clawed at his stomach.

The man, realizing the extent of Marik's rebelliousness, set down the knife and grabbed another rope. With quickness and familiar dexterity, he whipped the rope around Marik's flailing legs, tied them tightly together and bound them to the iron ring at the end of the table. Marik began shrieking, hardly bothering to control the tears running down his face.

"Father, Ishizu, Rishid! Help me please! Anybody! Help me!"

_Someone help me._

The man grabbed the white cloth and roughly jammed it across Marik's mouth, tying it behind his head. Marik tried to scream, but his cried were muffled by the cloth crammed between his teeth. The flickering torches sent dark creatures lunging on the walls. From the corner of his eye, Marik spotted the shadow of the man advancing upon him and the glitter of the glowing hot knife in his hand. Marik twitched in fear and clenched his eyes shut.

Pain. Searing pain unlike he'd ever experienced. Marik choked and gasped against the cloth. He bit down until his teeth ached and stung with the effort. He strained against the jarring stabs of pain as the searing hot knife carved ancient secrets into his flesh. Each new touch of the blade felt fresh and hot, equally as painful and mind-numbing as the last. Tears flowed freely from Marik's eyes as he sobbed from behind the cloth. The pain sent sparks of white flickering in front of his eyes until suddenly, he was engulfed in darkness and the pain disappeared.

_I waited. Silence and darkness surrounded me, but I waited._

_Suddenly, I heard a voice. A pleading, helpless voice. Where was it coming from? From me? From the Outside? I head someone sobbing. I reached out a hand and groped blindly._

_Can you hear me? I asked. I heard a sniffle._

_Yes, I can hear you. Who are you?_

_I don't know. I suppose I am you._

_Me?_

_Perhaps._

_Can you help me?_

_What do you need help for?_

_It hurts. Everything hurts so much._

_It's alright. The pain will go away soon._

_Really?_

_Promise._

**.:Author's Note:.**

I hope that wasn't too painful to read. This is actually my first fanfiction. Ever. I finally decided to write a fanfict after putting it off for... a long time. I just can't seem to write much about characters from other series. Maybe its because I feel insecure about the correct portrayal of their characters...? So if the characters' personality seems a bit off, I apologize. Besides, this is a slash story so of course it's not going to be much like the original story.

Sorry for the long intro. I prefer setting and details first. And for those reading this like "Gee this was all in the anime, I already know all this." Well you know what? PISH AND POSH. It serves a purpose, just wait and see.

Also, no card games in here.

Review?

-DxH


	2. Chapter 2: Break in

**.:Author's Note:. **Well, here's the next chapter... I know my update was slow but that's because I skipped ahead and wrote out a bunch of plot, but then had to go back and write what came before... so yeah. ORGANIZATION FAIL. Well, I hope this chapter is a bit more... plot-moving. The next few chapters should have an explosion of plot movement, no worries.

Anywho, without furthur ado, enjoy!

-DxH

...

Chapter Two: Break-In

...

When Marik awoke, he was lying on his stomach. He blinked and lifted an arm to push himself up, but suddenly felt a jab of searing pain slam his body back against the cot. His back burned with indescribable pain. Marik screamed, clutching the side of his bed. His shoulders began trembling immediately and he clutched at the sheets, unmoving, praying for the agony to end. The door of his room suddenly slammed open as Rishid lurched into the room. Upon seeing Marik, he threw himself beside the boy, grabbing a damp towel from the clay basin of water close to the bed. He wrung the towel and dabbed it along the young boy's brow. Marik's eyes snapped open and he glared at his illegitimate brother with such hate filled intent that Rishid's hand instinctively darted away from Marik. Marik blinked and his expression softened slightly.

"Oh… Rishid." Marik whispered hoarsely, managing a small smile. His face suddenly contorted violently as another throbbing of pain streaked through his body. Marik whimpered and stifled another scream. Rashid watched helplessly as Marik suffered against the pain of the future forced upon him. Finally, after a few excruciating minutes, Marik settled back down and breathed a sigh of relief. Sticky, salty sweat clung to his brow, which Rishid wiped away with the cool towel. Marik smiled weakly and gratefully and closed his eyes, returning to the respite of sleep.

_Are you feeling better?_

_A little._

_I told you._

_Who are you?_

_Again, I don't know. Maybe you._

_I see._

_Do you?_

_Not really._

_I thought not._

_Do you live here?_

_Where?_

_In the dark._

_I've always been here. I guess you could say that._

_It's very dark._

_Yes, it is._

_Aren't you lonely?_

_..._

It took well over a month for Marik's wounds to heal. Every time he tried to move, the pain would tear at his back and lance through his body like a bolt of flaming thunder. Marik spend most of his time in bed, and only let Ishizu and Rishid tend to him when he was feeling feverish or needed his bandages changed. Rishid noticed that Marik was becoming increasingly moody. He had odd tendencies to suddenly snap at him or Ishizu. Rishid was relatively certain that the cause of such mood swings was due to the pain of the Initiation carvings. But he couldn't blame him.

Every time he slipped the cloth bandages from Marik's back to replace them, Rishid couldn't help but cringe at the sight of the swelling red welts that made up various symbols, designs, and hieroglyphs. Rishid dabbed at the scars with a damp towel soaked in warm water. Marik released a small hiss of pain but did not shy away from the touch. After cleaning the wounds, Rishid firmly wrapped Marik's back in soft, clean bandages and eased the boy back into his bed. Marik looked up at him from behind soft wisps of unnaturally blond hair, and inherent trait in his father's side of the family.

"Hey Rishid?" Marik asked.

"Yes?" The young man replied, gently tying the bandages.

"Why is father so obsessed with this whole Tombkeeper thing?" Rishid paused, his hand resting on Marik's back.

"Father… father has a very old way of thinking." He said finally. "He believes that it is his utmost duty to protect the tomb of the great pharaoh, a future that has been passed down for thousands of generations in his family, until the day the Pharaoh returns."

"How can he return if he's already dead?" Marik exclaimed. Rishid shrugged.

"There is a prophesy that, one day, the Pharaoh will return. But since that day was not specified, the secrets have been passed down from generation to generation, awaiting the Day of Resuscitation."

"But I still don't understand. Does he think it's an obligation?" Marik asked. Rishid shook his head.

"Perhaps. But regardless, he believes very strongly in his duty, and so is passing this on to you." Rishid's mouth twitched in a half-hearted smile. "That Aknadin would pass this privilege on to you shows that he cares for you very much." Marik's hands clenched his pillow tightly.

"That's a lie." He muttered in his pillow.

"Marik –"

"You're lying!" Marik screamed, raising his head. Rishid flinched from the sheer strength and hatred that filled the child's eyes. "Father doesn't love me! He only thinks of me as an heir for this messed up ritual. If he really loved me he wouldn't force this on me! If he loved me, he would trust me! He would let me go outside and have a real life of my own!"

Rishid watched helplessly as Marik burst into tears and buried his head in his pillow. He sighed and gently stroked the boy's hair.

"Marik, I know it hurts. You are young, and the pain and confusion clouds your mind from the magnitude of what you have been given. When you're older, you may grow to understand." Rishid pushed himself off the bed, gathering the dirtied bandages and damp cloth, and quietly exited the room.

_It's a lie. The child murmured._

_What is? I asked._

_My father._

_Your father? He sniffed, fighting back tears._

_He doesn't love me. He forced this on me. I'm just an object for him to manipulate to his will._

_That's terrible._

_You think so too?_

_Of course. I said, gently cupping his face in my hands. He could not see me in the dark, but I felt him lean into my touch. A good father wouldn't force something like this on his son if he truly loved him, I continued._

_Thank you. He sighed. I'm glad you understand me._

_Of course I understand you. I whispered. I am a part of you, so I know all about your life, what you are forced to endure, the pains you must carry. I touched his back gently. It is a heavy burden for someone so young. The child whimpered._

_I hate this. I hate this life. I hate having my future predetermined like this. I hate my father for deciding my future. I hate the Pharaoh for forcing this life on me._

_The Pharaoh?_

_If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have to protect his tomb. All this about awaiting the resuscitation of a man who died 3,000 years ago is nothing but the deceptive lies of a bunch of wheezy old men who think they're prophets._

_I understand. I'll protect you._

_Will you stay with me?_

_Of course. I'll be with you forever._

Marik sat at his desk, idly twirling his stick of charcoal between his fingers and gazing absentmindedly at the scrolls in front of him. His father had been very strict-minded about his education since the initiation. He'd been forcing him to absorb scrolls upon scrolls of history, information, and various studies about the pharaoh and the secrets of the tomb. Marik felt disheartened and uninspired by his tasks. He found no joy, no ambition in learning about the exploits of the man who'd ruined his life. He sighed and dropped his head on the table.

Suddenly, a noise outside from his room caught his attention. His head snapped up and he caught his breath to better hear.

Voices, coming closer, bickered and barked through the corridor. As they passed his room, Marik heard the unmistakable, loud clattering of the armor of the palace soldiers who guarded the tomb. At least half a dozen men ran past his room, their voices anxious and tense with alarm. Marik left his desk and scurried to the doorway. He opened the door and poked his head out of the room. He saw the retreating backs of several soldiers carrying spears, swords, and hefty shields retreating through the doorway to the tomb room. He saw Rishid and his father walk by hurriedly, discussing in low voices. Rishid carried an unsheathed sword in his right hand. Rishid suddenly caught his eye and whispered something to Aknadin, who looked up at Marik. He frowned, his eyes narrowing.

"Marik, get back in your room." He ordered.

"What's going on?" Marik asked, remaining in his spot.

"Nothing you need to know about. Just stay in your room." Aknadin snapped back. Marik frowned and glared back at him. Rishid, noticing the tension, decided to intervene.

"It's nothing, master Marik. Something just came up and the soldiers are taking care of it. It'll be over soon, alright?" Marik twisted his mouth and turned on his heel, closing the door behind him. He placed his ear to the door and listened until the he was certain Rishid and his father had left the room. Marik opened the door, looked around and, seeing no one, padded noiselessly after them.

He ran through several large rooms, and after reaching a corridor, strained his ears, hoping he hadn't lost them. He heard a sudden, loud clatter from his left and heard Rishid cry out. Marik's blood ran cold and he darted towards the noise, his heart pounding noisily in his chest. Finally, Marik entered a large room supported by ornate golden columns and surrounded by riches and colorful fabrics and carpets. It was a room he did not recognize, but Marik did not remain to gape. He padded forward towards a pair of large, partially open double doors breathtaking in both size and beauty. The thick doors were carved from sidder wood, towering at least four meters, and inlaid with rounded bronze studs and intricate silver designs ornate in style decorated the front of the door. A huge, Egyptian eye carved of pure gold was placed in the center of the door, split in half at the center where the doors were slightly parted. Marik stood, awed and intimidated by these doors.

Suddenly, the sound of a sharp cry startled Marik. Someone began to laugh. Marik's blood turned to ice and he froze instantly. The voice wasn't deep, nor was it harsh or guttural. But something about the voice was unnatural, filled with spite, hatred, and a kind of intensity that curled his innards and made his heart beat painfully against his ribcage.

Marik slowly walked up to the doors and peered through them, careful not to give himself away. Marik's eyes widened as they perused over the scene of the room. The chamber itself was enormous, its ceiling stretching high above them supported by huge pillars of gold etched with thousands of hieroglyphs. Gold and silver, riches in amounts Marik could never fathom, piled at every end of the room, displaced only where a stone walkway and half dozen stairs led straight from the door to a large, elevated platform in the middle of the room, on which Marik could catch a glimpse of the end of a large, golden sarcophagus. Another huge golden eye in the middle of a colossal triangle had been carved out of the far back wall and glared soberly down at the chaotic scene below it.

The Tomb of the Pharaoh Atem.

The sound of approaching soldiers shook Marik from his reverie and he retreated behind the door. He held his breath as he heard his father barking orders at a group of soldiers, who marched past the door, their footsteps echoing through the chamber. Once they passed, Marik peeped through the door again and his eyes fell upon a most discordant scene that immediately chilled his blood and sent shivers down his spine.

Several soldiers were scattered around the room, attending to what Marik realized were several wounded and a few now lifeless bodies of palace guards. His eyes lingering on the prone figure of a corpse, who carried a large, freely bleeding gash across his chest, eyes wide and frozen in shock as they strained unnaturally against their sockets. Marik swallowed the bile that rose from his throat and averted his gaze.

The boy spotted, from the corner of his eye, his brother and father standing close by. They spoke in low voices that Marik could barely hear over the moans, clattering, and sharp whispered arguments between the soldiers.

"Are you certain?" Marik heard Aknadin ask in a low voice. Rishid nodded.

"Yes, I checked tomb and everything is safe. We managed to stop him on time, but there's no telling where he's gone now." Aknadin tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"How could he know about the sennen items though. Ever since they're creation they have been a secret to all outside the palace. Only those fit to inherit them have known of their powers. Why would this lowly thief seek the items?" Rishid shrugged, his gaze locked on the sarcophagus.

"Perhaps he did not know of their value, but was simply intending to rob the tomb, like any thief. There is plenty of gold here." Aknadin raised a skeptical brow.

"None of which he stole. I doubt a simple thief could make it all the way here without knowing his way around the tomb. There are only two passages leading here, both of which are heavily guarded. He could not have come here without knowing what lay at the end. No thief would risk his skin penetrating the tomb of the great Pharaoh for mere gold."

"If that is the case, this thief must immediately be apprehended." Rishid concluded firmly. Aknadin nodded and began walking briskly towards the door. Marik's heart skipped a beat when he realized he was headed straight for him. Marik sprung away from the door, looking around wildly for a means to hide. His eyes immediately found a large, intricate looking vase-like object beside the large doors. He dashed behind it, stumbling to his knees right as the door opened.

Marik held his breath, his heart pounding violently against his chest, as he heard Aknadin walk through the door. Marik slinked closer to the vase as his father advanced towards the end of the room and disappeared into the corridor. Marik waited until the sound of his footsteps disappeared before leaving his hiding place and padding quietly after him, when suddenly he was grabbed from behind. Marik stifled a yelp and twisted around to face Rishid, looking down at him sternly.

"What are you doing here, young master?" Rishid hissed, his eyes flitting around. "You shouldn't be out of your room." Marik blinked meekly.

"I was just curious." He said defensively. "I wanted to know what all the stirring was about." Rishid sighed. He took Marik firmly by the hand and dragged him through the corridor back to the main room. Marik waited until they had stopped to question Rishid further.

"What happened in there, Rishid?" Marik asked. Rishid looked at him quietly before folding his arms and averting his gaze.

"It's nothing. Just, please go back to your room, master Marik." Marik looked up defiantly, clenching his fists angrily.

"I hate it when you don't tell me these things, Rishid! Something clearly happened! The guards were running around everywhere, and even father looked nervous! Stop leaving me in the dark all the time! I'm the tombkeeper now, for Ra's sake, I want to know what's going on in this tomb!" Rishid looked helplessly at Marik. He sighed and pulled the young boy into a gentle embrace. Marik blinked in surprise but wrapped his arms around his illegitimate brother.

"I'm sorry," Rishid said. "Come." Marik followed Rishid back into his room and immediately sat on his bed. Rishid began looking through Marik's scripture and hieroglyph scrolls, tucking a few under his arm.

"Are you going to tell me or not?" Marik asked. Rishid glanced at Marik and returned to shuffling through the scrolls.

"A thief broke in to the tomb." Rishid said promptly. Marik gaped.

"What?" He cried, jumping off the bed. "A thief? But… how? This tomb is so well guarded. I mean, aren't there palace guards everywhere? And it's a total maze down here! How could he possibly –"

"I don't know." Rishid interjected. Marik opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted.

"It's fine" Rishid said softly, gathering the scrolls in his arms and looking up. "There's nowhere for him to run here. We have every exit blocked off, and even if he did manage to leave, he didn't steal anything, so there is nothing to worry about." Marik frowned.

"What do you mean, he didn't steal anything? Isn't he a thief?"

"Well, yes," Rishid conceded, "but I don't think he was looking for mere gold."

"Well then what _was_ he looking for?" Marik persisted. Rishid averted his gaze.

"It doesn't matter. Whatever it was, he didn't get a hold of it. Now get some rest. Tomorrow, your father will be teaching you about the history of the Pharaoh." Marik pouted.

"But I already know about the Pharaoh." He whined. "I want to help with the search for the thief."

"Absolutely not." Rishid said immediately, before looking at Marik softly. "It'll be over soon anyways. Tomorrow, I'll play bocce with you, alright?" The young tombkeeper grinned.

"Alright. But you'd better promise!" He said. Rishid smiled and solemnly held up a hand.

"I swear by Ra that I'll come play bocce with you tomorrow… and kick your butt at it!" Marik grinned and stuck out his tongue playfully.

"No way, I'll definitely win this time!" He cried, raising a threatening fist. Rishid laughed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Marik let out a soft breath and fell back on his bed. He tucked his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, letting the world of tender dreams sooth his soon to be troubled mind.

...


	3. Chapter 3: Duties

_**.:Author's Note:.** Here we are, the third chapter. Yeah I know by now most of you are like WHERE THE HELL IS AKEFIA! Well he's coming! Be patient! Not this chapter, but probably the next! I haven't written it yet, but I think he'll snap a debut in the next chapter. Though it'll be less than snappy if you ask me. Anywho, this chapter is more dialogue than anything. But yeah. IT HAS A POINT._

_-DxH_

_..._

Chapter Three: Duties

_..._

_He lied to me again. The frail boy whispered. Despite the dark, I was able to make out Marik's shape. He seemed t glow from the inside with a strange light that… felt so very appealing, and that drew me to him._

_Who? I asked. Your father?_

_No Rishid._

_Rishid? You mean that young man?_

_Yes. I always really thought of him as my brother. I really cared for him._

_I paused, thinking. But he lied to you. I said. I heard the boy's hair shift softly as he nodded._

_I know._

_You can't trust him if he lies to you. I held out a hand and touched him on the shoulder. He was so very warm, and that light inside him seemed to grow even brighter._

_But I want to trust Rishid. He whined. I narrowed my eyes._

_But can you not trust me? I asked, stroking a few wisps of stray hair along his cheek._

_Of course I can! He cried desperately, his hand touching mine delicately, with a grip as if afraid to break something but still fearful of letting it go. You're the only one I can trust!_

_I looked down at him, he whose eyes and blood and shining soul tempted me like blood for a beast. But then again, aren't we all just prey waiting to be consumed by a bigger brute than ourselves? He buried his head in my open arms, clutching at my shoulders with small, slight fingers._

_You're the only one who understands me, and who helps me. Without you, I would be so lonely. Everything would hurt. You have to stay with me forever! You promised! He cried in a voice filled with desire and longing and fear and an intense desperation that brought a cruel smile to my lips._

_Of course I'll be with you forever. I will protect you against those who bear you ill will. I will hold you when you cry, stay with you when you need a friend. I will be there when everyone else has disappeared. You are mine, and I am yours, my little Marik._

_..._

"Marik, pay attention, will you?" Marik opened his eyes, looking unabashedly up at Aknadin. The man appeared taller and more intimidating than usual as he glared down at the young tombkeeper. Despite the dark, threatening aura in the man's eyes, Marik looked up at him with an even gaze and blinked slowly.

"I'm sorry." He said, moving his mouth around the words with sharp derision. Aknadin's eyes darkened but he made no movements.

"Answer my question. How did the Pharaoh defeat Zorc Necrophades?" Marik sighed and propped his elbow on the desk, resting his chin on his hand.

"He used a spell by using his name and then sealed Zorc into the Millenium Ring, and himself into the millennium puzzle to protect the spell from ever being used to resurrect Zorc." Marik repeated. Aknadin nodded.

"Very good. Now, what are these items called and how many are there." Marik sighed loudly.

"The items are known as the Sennen, or Millenium items, and there are seven of them total."

"Name them."

"The Sennen Puzzle, key, Necklace, Ring, Eye, Scale and… um… Rod." Marik finished. Aknadin nodded.

"We own three of these items. Two have fallen in to the hands of various thieves during times of chaos. Upon my death, protection of the Rod shall be passed on to you, and the Necklace to your sister."

"What about Rishid?" Marik interjected. Aknadin's eyes narrowed.

"Rishid is not my heir." He said sharply. "He inherits nothing." Marik glared pointedly at Aknadin and dropped his head on the desk.

"The remaining items," Aknadin continued, "are protected by Shadi, who owns the Sennen Key and Scale. He has protected the items since their creation under the rule of Akhenamkhanen." Marik raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"So what is he, a ghost?"

"Something of the sort. More like a spirit guardian who looks over the items." Marik rolled his eyes.

"Wonderful job he did there, what with three of the items missing already."

"Shadi's powers are not limitless, Marik, especially as a spirit. That is why we have been entrusted with the task of protecting the Pharaoh's secret." Aknadin placed a firm hand on Marik's shoulder. The boy shrank away from the touch, his eyes growing dark and the hairs on the nape of his neck tugging sharply at his skin.

"This is why you must protect this secret with your life. In the wrong hands, the Sennen Item's powers could be used to resurrect Zorc and unleash destruction upon the entire world, you understand?" Aknadin said gravely. Marik glared darkly at him and averted his gaze sharply.

"Yes." He spat between clenched teeth. Aknadin's mouth twitched into an approving smile which failed to reach his eyes. He patted Marik on the shoulder and withdrew his hand.

"Where's Rishid?" Marik asked. "He said we were going to play bocce ball today." Aknadin gave him a disapproving glare.

"This is no time to be playing games, Marik." He said darkly. Marik glared back, but before he could open his mouth to complain, Rishid scurried inside the room.

"Father," he said, bowing to Aknadin. He glanced at Marik and motioned for Aknadin to follow him, and the two left the room. Marik immediately leapt up from his desk and scurried to the door, pressing his ear against the soft, cold wood.

"The thief has been captured." He heard Rishid say in a hushed voice. "It seems that he decided to return after his last raid two weeks ago, but we were ready for him."

"I see. How many did we lose?"Aknadin asked, his voice even.

"Three were killed, at least a dozen were wounded. He was a tough one, young too. I don't recognize him though, from any of the local reports. He must have traveled here from the west." Marik heard Aknadin shift and his heart began pounding louder.

"Where is he now?"

"We locked him up in the dungeon room. We had to knock him out to get him anywhere, and we cuffed his hands and feet to ensure his couldn't escape."

"Alright. I want you to send a message to the Palace. They should have him cleared out in ten days time." Rishid nodded and turned to leave but Marik opened the door and called out to him before he could leave.

"What about bocce?" He demanded. "You promised, Rishid." Rishid looked back at him helplessly, regret scrawled upon his face."

"I'm sorry Marik. Later this week, maybe. It's been a busy month." Marik pouted and turned away angrily.

"Liar." He muttered. "You skipped out last time too." Rishid gave him one last apologetic look before walking down the corridor, leaving Marik with his father. Marik stepped back into his room and slumped face down on his bed.

"Marik, we aren't done yet." Aknadin reminded him.

"I've had enough for today." Marik muttered in the pillow. Aknadin took a step towards the boy.

"Listen Marik, this is important information. You can't keep –"

"I said I've had enough!" Marik yelled, turning his head towards Aknadin. Marik's father blinked and took a step back. The intensity that emanated from the boy's glare sent a jolt of nerves running through his body. There was something dark and merciless in that glare, something that told him it was best he leave at that moment. With an angry huff, Aknadin gathered a few scrolls off Marik's desk and stormed out of the room.

Marik buried his head back into his pillow and sighed.

"Why won't they tell me anything." He mumbled angrily. Marik clenched his fist and sat up decidedly. He grabbed his drab brown cloak and threw it on, hiding his hair beneath the hood of the cloak. Marik left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, and started down the dark corridor.

Having lived in the underground tombs for all of his life, Marik knew his way around them rather well. Meaning that he also knew where many of the hidden passages created by the original architect were located. Years before, Marik had fallen upon a hidden room located at the end of the corridor, beside the book room. In this hidden room was a chest holding a copper and gold cylinder the size of a sword sheath, and in it, an old map, faded and yellowed, but still intact, mapping out the entire makeup of the tomb including all the hidden passages – those he knew, and those he didn't.

Some rooms Marik was easily able to access. There he hid when he felt overcome with grief or rage, or simply needed somewhere ostracized from the rest of his family to vent his frustrations and have time to himself. Other rooms he could not access either because they were locked away or had become blocked by rubble from when the room had collapsed upon itself, having decayed away to unstable fragments. One passage Marik had located on the map led up to the Outside, but when he'd checked the entrance, any door or shifting barrier had been covered by a newly built wall, blocking it.

Holding his cloak tightly against his chest, Marik scuttled down the corridor and stopped a few meters from the end. After checking the corridor for signs of movement and straining his ears for any warning sound, Marik pressed one hand on the wall below the fifth to last torch and leaned heavily against it. A block of the limestone shifted in, permitting Marik to tug the door to the side. A thick door about five feet tall slid to the side, allocating for Marik to slip through and close the door behind him. He pushed the jutting block back into place above him and looked around. Marik found himself in a familiar, small and square, no bigger than his own room, but covered in ornate, though faded, carpets and ancient trinkets of unknown value and use. A large, deep brown table of Acacia and Palm bark stood bravely in the center of the room, its feet chipped with age and worn with use, covered in scrolls and maps. A large chair, carved from limestone and covered in sheep pelts, faced the entryway with pride, glittering white under the faint flickering of four lone torches, hung in the middle on each wall of the room. Marik removed his hood and walked to the far right of the room, where he crouched in front of a medium sized wooden chest, bolted with silver nails and lined with leather sashes. He opened the unlocked chest and pulled out the copper cylinder, pulling the silver cap off and dumping the map into his hands. Marik walked back to the table and spread the map out over it.

Perusing the map, Marik followed the various passages crisscrossing each other, passing hither and yonder. When he'd found what he'd been looking for, Marik slapped a victorious hand on the map.

"The dungeon room." He said, smiling triumphantly.

...


	4. Chapter 4: The thief

**.:Author's Note:.** Whoooo fourth chapter. This one took a while mostly because I wasnt so sure about how to get Marik from a to b without being obnoxiously repetative. Yeah and you may have noticed the weird secre-passage system I invented. Yeah, that was kind of necessary for this chapter, when you think about the logistics of it.

Anywho, WE FINALLY MEET AKEFIA. Yeah! Moment you've been waiting for! I hope he doesn't seem too OOC right now - he's quite the ice king, but he'll warm up eventually xD Next few chapters are going to speed up the plot quite a bit. So keep reading ^^

-DxH

...

Chapter Four: The Thief

...

Marik bent over the map, eyes squinting through the dim light at the ink-sketched lines and hieroglyphs identifying the various rooms in the Underground Palace. The Underground consisted of three sections, labeled wings, each with separate rooms of their own. The East, or Right, Wing was where Marik resided most of the time. Here, there was a large common room, a dining room, several rooms where he, Rishid, and Ishizu slept, a large public bathroom, and a corridor with several other, mostly abandoned rooms. On the other side of the corridor was the Central Wing, which Marik had visited only on certain occasions. It mostly consisted of a massive room supported by several pillars with a large hole in the ceiling, allowing for the only source of sun and moonlight to pass through into the Underground. Marik often wished he could stand beneath it more often than he so seldom did, but it was often patrolled by guards or the scribes and monks that shared the knowledge of the Underground and resided here. Marik was relatively sure his father had a room here, having often seen him return to the Central Wing for the night. The weapons room and the vast palace library were located side by side here, and Marik recognized a large, etched square by the corridor on the lower right indicating the Tomb Room.

Lastly, the West, or Left, Wing was the most, say, mysterious out of the three wings. Marik had seldom ventured here, once on accident when he had been wandering through the hidden passages and stumbled upon an abandoned room filled with hideous and frightening devices of wood and metal likely for the purpose of inflicting pain upon so called 'enemies of the state.' Marik since then avoided this torture chamber when he could, having felt sick to his stomach for three days after. The only other occasion he had been brought to the West Wing was for an event he would much rather forget – the initiation. Memories sent shudders through Marik's body, and his back itched in recollection of the pain. Otherwise, there were several other rooms indicated but not named which Marik assumed had little to no purpose, and, dissuaded by what he had henceforth discovered in this wing, did not try to investigate any deeper.

The small rectangle labeled "Dungeon Room" resided not far from the tomb room, but in an area of the Underground he wasn't very familiar with. The map indicated it to be even deeper underground, beneath the weapons room. Marik shuddered at the thought of going even deeper underground. Already he could feel the walls constricting and choking him, shoving at his consciousness every minute of every day.

Marik looked at the dungeon for an entryway. The passages that he'd found blocked or barricaded, Marik had marked with an X using a charcoal pencil, and he skipped over those, knowing full well they were passages he couldn't use. Only two passages led to the dungeon. The main passage was obviously from the Central Wing, leading straight from the corridor to a room harboring the stairs used to descend into the penitentiary. This passage was definitely a no-go, Marik thought. Considering how difficult it had been to capture this thief, they had probably stationed several guards at the entrance. Thus, this left only one passage, which, to Marik's heart-dropping dismay, began from the Left Wing.

Marik looked over the map, hoping for an alternative route of some kind, but there was none, and the boy was left with bitter second-thoughts about his journey. The boy rolled up the map and stuffed it under his tunic. He threw his hood back on and quickly returned to his room, where he shut his door and threw himself on his bed. Tonight, he thought.

Navigating the corridors at night proved to be a much harder task than Marik had thought. With the recent break in on this thief's part, more guards had been posted around the Underground than usual, forcing Marik to take several detours and avoid larger areas in the Central Wing. When he finally reached the end of the corridor separating the Central and West Wing, Marik paused. He took a deep breath, pulled a torch from its hold on the wall, and with one hand, opened the door to the West Wing.

The door creaked loudly, causing Marik to wince and freeze, listening for the sound of rushing guards or accusing voices at any moment. But nothing moved, no voices or pattering footsteps sounded through the corridor. Nothing but the flickering of the torches. Marik slowly closed the rusty, iron-wrought door behind him. Since the West Wing was so rarely used, no one had bothered to oil the door, and Marik had broken the rusty bolt lock on it several months before. Marik held up the torch, shivering unconsciously. Though close to the Central Wing, the West Wing felt particularly cold to Marik's skin. He drew his cloak closer to his body and raised the torch, looking around at the empty, cob-web filled room. At the end of the room were a pair of large double doors Marik had to struggle to open, but once he did, found himself in a vast room, almost larger than the common room in the Central Wing, but much darker and emptier, and devoid of any light-admitting hole in the ceiling, much to the young tombkeeper's disappointment.

Not to be discouraged, however, Marik briskly continued forward, regarding his map at every few intersection to be sure he was on the right path. Finding himself lost and stuck in the West Wing didn't appeal to Marik in the least, especially considering his past interactions with this particular section of the tomb. Marik shuddered as he recalled the memory of the Initiation, of the dark man standing over him, and the gleaming knife that leered hungrily over him, hissing with longing for his flesh.

Finally, Marik located the entrance to the hidden passage. He opened the door across from the large, decrepit-looking pillar-supported space, and stepped inside a room which smelled moistly of fungus and dirt and something else. Marik hoisted the flickering torch over his head and inspected the room before him. It bore little difference to the other rooms of the West Wing – relatively empty, lightless, and covered in a thin layer of dust and cobwebs. A few decaying pieces of musty wooden furniture hunched like cripples in the back of the room atop a thick carpet which had lost whatever décor and color it may have previously boasted and stretched out across the floor. But wherever he turned, the tombkeeper found no door, no entrance. Not even one of the many recognizable signs of a hidden passage. He stared down at the map, eyes furrowed in disappointment. He fervently prayed that the passage hadn't been blocked or torn away, though the poor state of the room persuaded him that no one was likely to bother. Marik took a few steps forward, his feet muffled by the damp carpet. He stared down at the map, and suddenly, something came to his attention. Usually, a route was represented by a pair of parallel lines protruding from a wall of the building, and a secret passage was identified by dotted lines. In this case, however, the parallel lines came directly from the middle of the room, as if an invisible door was placed in the center of the room. Marik looked down.

Of course!

Feeling giddy, Marik set the torch and map by the wall, careful not to let the torch tip over. He gripped the carpet in both hands and, with a grunt, peeled the carpet off the ground. Insects scuttled away from the sudden intrusion of light, and dust sprang up in thick gray swirls from where Marik unceremoniously dropped the end of the carpet. The tombkeeper grinned as he marveled at the three-by-three foot trap door that greeted him from amidst the cringing insects and specs of dirt. Marik tugged the trap door open and grabbed the torch and map. He kneeled by the hole in the ground and lifted his torch to peer down below. Marik was clearly able to see the ground, which wasn't too far down, but eyed the rusty-looking ladder dubiously, debating its safety. Finally, deciding he had no other choice, Marik stuffed the map back down his tunic, and with one hand holding the torch and the other clinging on to the railing for dear life, he began his climb down the gaping maw of the trap.

Dampness and cold met Marik's naked foot when he finally reached the end of the ladder and touched the floor. He exhaled loudly, almost shocked to have made it down without capsizing the entire ladder. He lifted the torch and registered a one way passage across from him that continued on into the dark. The passage was immensely colder than above, and Marik shivered, clutching his cloak closer to his body. Marik began tentatively walking forward, keeping the torch near him to absorb what warmth he could gather. His footsteps echoed ominously through the empty, silent corridor. As he walked, Marik began thinking about the thief. What would he look like? What would he talk like? Would he speak Egyptian? The prospect of such a new experience, of new knowledge thrilled the young tombkeeper, and he shuddered in excitement. He'd never seen anyone from the Outside, aside from the occasional guards and monks. But Marik could never talk to them, and even when he did try, they never replied to him, and simply ignored him as if he were a ripple of air that couldn't be bothered with.

Finally, the passage abruptly ended and Marik stood facing a flat wall. He blinked and pulled out the map, checking to make sure he hadn't missed an intersection. But the sketches on the map indicated only a straight path inevitably leading to the dungeon. He frowned, pursing his lips, and looked up.

"There has to be some secret opening, then." He mused, and, secretly, hoped. Marik felt his way along the limestone bricks of the wall with one hand, knocking on them, feeling about for the familiar change in texture of a hidden opening. Marik's fingers abruptly froze on a brick about three feet off the ground. The brick felt significantly smoother, lighter, different from the others. He triumphantly kneeled and pushed the brick forward. It slid effortlessly forward, and then moved aside to accommodate a surprisingly small opening at the bottom of the wall. Immediately, the sharp scent of feces and decay nipped at his senses, causing him to grimace in disgust and cover his nose. When he managed to swallow down his surprise and nausea, Marik quickly set aside the torch and map, careful not to let the torch tip over and burn out, and crawled through the doorway.

When Marik had completely emerged from the opening, he stood up, dusting off his robe, and surveyed his surroundings. He was in a large room in which the entire left portion was divided into several sectioned off prison cells standing side by side, separated from the rest of the room, a long corridor, by rusty metal prison bars. Across from the boy was a wooden door, likely bolted from the outside. The room was also lit by a few flickering torches which stood at alert on the right wall, flickering menacingly at those unfortunate enough to find themselves in the cells across from them. Marik turned around to discover a variety of chains, cuffs, and ropes hanging off the wall – likely why the hidden opening rose no higher than a meter.

Marik peered curiously into the cell nearest him. He immediately recoiled, his eyebrows furrowing in disgust. The cell was empty, but dark and consumed by shadows. Nothing but a plank of wood, a bucket, a pair of metal cuffs chained to the wall, and the black form of some unknown _thing_ slumped in a corner, hidden by the shadows, decorated the cell. The nauseating scent of death wafted up Marik's nose again, causing him to hiss and pull his cloak closer to him.

Marik began walking slowly, cautiously, and silently. He held his breath, peering through each cell for the presence of someone, or something. His heart pounded loudly against his chest and through his ears, growing louder at every cell he passed. However, when he reached the end of the cell without finding anyone, Marik frowned, perplexed.

"That's strange." He muttered under his breath. "This is the only dungeon room in the tomb. Where else could they have put him?" As Marik shoved through his brain for an answer, a sudden shuffling noise caused him to jump. He whipped his head around and held his breath, listening. Again, he heard the shuffling of fabric, and this time, the clink of something metallic against the ground. Marik slowly followed the sound to the end of the room, back where he had started, and peered through the last cell.

It looked exactly as when he had left it, everything in place. Except the strange black shape in the back corner had disappeared. Marik cautiously approached the cell, looking around for something, anything.

"Who are you?" Marik squeaked and leapt away from the cell, his heart pounding furiously. A figure, one that had easily blended into the shadows of the cell, shifted from its spot near the right-hand wall of the cell. Marik was able to barely distinguish a hunched, human form, sitting with bent knees against the wall. He waited until his heart rate slowed before approaching the prison cell again. Mustering as much confidence as he could, he looked straight at the figure.

"Are you by any chance the thief that was captured recently?" The figure didn't move or respond, and seemed rather to be sizing him up. Marik felt strangely uncomfortable under the piercing scrutiny of the stranger he couldn't quite see. Suddenly, the figure moved slightly, allowing for some of the light from the torches to touch upon his form. Marik sucked in a breath as he beheld before him the figure of a man with shadow-lined ivory hair and dark, icy blue eyes that glistened eerily in the firelight. His face was so hidden by the shadows, that Marik could not but compare him to a ghost or a spirit of some kind. The thief's mouth suddenly twitched, but his eyes remained fixed on the young boy, unblinking.

"It is I." He said in a quiet and parched, but steady voice. "What does a child of the Tomb like you need from me, if I may inquire?" Marik swallowed, but refused to let himself be intimidated. I've made it this far, he thought to himself, licking his lips, I can't back down yet!

"I can get you out of here." Marik said, attempting to keep his voice even. The thief released a weak snort.

"Really?" He asked snidely.

"I can."

"I don't need help from a kid to leave this place."

"I'm your only option. That or they'll ship you off to the palace tomorrow, where you'll probably be executed." Marik had no idea if this was true, but either way, he was playing his best card and praying the thief would take the bait.

The prisoner suddenly shifted and pushed himself off the ground. He staggered but quickly stabilized himself on his two feet and limped towards Marik. Marik felt his throat constrict and felt a strong urge to step back, but his pride and fear kept him rooted in place. Despite his hunched, injured, and gaunt stature, the young man before him gave off a frighteningly intimidating impression. The thief leaned forward and grabbed the rusty prison bars with both hands, bending forward and locking eyes with the young tombkeeper. Marik sucked in a surprised breath and his eyes widened as he met the cold, deep blue eyes of the white-haired thief. For the first time, Marik was able to take in the full scope of the thief's features. A sharp, gaunt face once a light golden olive perfected by the sun and now smudged with purpling bruises faced the young boy. The thief could have passed for handsome, beautiful even, with shapely eyes and ivory hair, if not for the bruises littering his face, the cuts and dry skin chaffing his full lips, and, perhaps, the long, startling scar running down the thief's right eye. The young man, as he could hardly pass for more than six years past Marik's own age, opened his mouth, snapping Marik away from his morbid fascination with the figure before him.

"Say you do help me out." The thief hissed in a voice not unlike a snake, but finding more resemblance to a lonely desert wind beneath the full moon, which swept across Marik's body and sent shivers running down his spine. "Say, you get me out of here. What makes you think I won't kill you as soon as I get out? I hate your kind with a passion you can't even _begin_ to understand." The thief stared unblinking into Marik's wide eyes, a look of pure malice, disgust, and hatred written upon his features. Marik willed himself to match the man's gaze, and resumed a steady pace of breathing to hide the erratic pace of his frenzied heart.

"Because I have access to a secret passage that allows us to bypass the guards. You're in no condition to fight them anyway." He said bravely. The thief cocked an eyebrow and scrutinized the small boy in front of him.

"Well, you have a point. But tell me, what do you get out of this? Surely you're not releasing me out of pure goodwill, or, considering my record, malice." Marik flinched and unclenched his sweaty palms, feeling his nails digging uncomfortably into his skin.

"I want you to take me with you. It doesn't have to be far. Even just to the nearest city." Marik managed to tear his gaze away from the thief's and let his eyes rest on the dank cell wall behind him. "I know the way out of here, but its bolted shut. As a thief, I'm sure you would know how to get past it." Akefia stared at Marik for a few, excruciatingly silent minutes, contemplating this deal.

"I'll do it," he finally said, "on one condition." Marik looked up and felt a strong revulsion to the strange gleam in the thief's eyes. "I want what I came for."

Marik felt his heart sink. "The Millenium Items." The thief nodded, a cruel smile playing on his bleeding lips. Marik grit his teeth. His entire upbringing, his whole life, was dedicated to protecting the items from people like this thief. To hand them over to a man who would certainly abuse their powers would betray his entire people and everything he had learned.

_But you would be free_, whispered a voice. _No longer will you be a prisoner. This tomb has cursed you, and torn away your future. Isn't it time you decided your destiny for yourself?_

Marik closed his eyes, and opened them, matching the cold eyes of the thief. "I'll do it." He said in a level tone. The thief grinned, an icy expression that failed to reach his darkened eyes.

"Then we have a deal." The white-haired devil concluded, thrusting a hand through the bars. Marik stared at the slender, curling fingers, almost skeletal in form, and raised his own hand. As Marik clasped the thief's hand, he realized just how small his fingers were beneath the others strong grasp.

"I'm Marik. Marik Ishtar." The young tombkeeper introduced himself.

"Akefia." The thief replied through his teeth. He bowed slightly and retreated to the shadows of his cell, though still facing the boy before him.

"I look forward to working with you, _Marik Ishtar_."

...

**.:Author's Note:.** Isn't he just evil? Too evil I think. Oh well, I blame it on the horror-movie-type-setting of this chapter. I also think that a lot of fanfic writers portray Akefia and Bakura as just these fun-loving mischevious guys. But I mean COME ON! BAKURA TRIED TO SUMMON ZORC AND DESTROY THE WORLD FOR GOD'S SAKE! HE'S PURE DAMN EVIL! Except around Marik. We all know he's got a soft spot for the tombkeeper.

Also, remember to review! Tell me what you like/don't like so I can improve my writing and such~

-DxH


	5. Chapter 5: Farewells

**.:Author's Note:.** Sorry for the delay! Been busy with college and scholarship applications and such! Anyways, this chapter was a bit short, so I apologize. I wrote it all in about 2 sittings after wondering what the hell to write. I really need to get these transition chapters going. Then it should be quicker paced. Next chapter will have us seeing some action for sure!

Otherwise, anyone guessed who the voice in Marik's head is? I'm trying to make it as obvious as possible, minus the strange lapses in narration and changes in POV.

Anyways, enjoy, and remember to review!

-DxH

...

Chapter Five: Farewells

...

Marik slept restlessly that night. His body was tense and his mind reeling with excitement. Thoughts, questions, doubts and hopes flooded his head. Would they make it out alright? How would Rishid and Ishizu react? What about his father? Would he care? Marik shook his head. Of course not. He would just be outraged that his heir had run away. What about after they'd escaped? The thief, would he kill him, or let him go? And, Marik wondered, what would the Outside be like? He smiled into his pillow. Surely, it must be warm. Unlike this cold prison he was confined to underground. There, above, the sun would shine and illuminate everything. Even the moon, which, when he looked up at if from his rare opportunities in the Central Wing, appeared far off and lonely, its rays casting a sorrowful light upon his skin, must be beautiful and pristine out above. Surely everything would be different. Surely.

_You really can't be serious? I scoffed._

_What do you mean? He replied indignantly._

_You can't possibly think it's going to go that smoothly. Anything could happen. There's only one exit out of the Tomb, and it's bolted shut. You'll have to pass through the middle of the Left Wing to make it there. It's more than likely you'll encounter guards, or worse, your father._

_Marik said nothing for a while. Finally, he said,_

_It doesn't make a difference. I've had enough. I have to get out of here._

_I couldn't help but repress a smile. I agree, of course, I said softly. However, are you still willing to leave, even if it means going up against your father?_

_Yes, he said immediately, his voice unwavering. This time, I did smile._

_Even if it means… that you may have to kill him?_

_He stared at me with wide eyes, and didn't reply._

_I laughed._

Marik awoke, his brow soaked in sweat, tangles in his sheets. He slowly pushed himself off, the bed, sweeping his covers aside and buried his face into his hands, taking deep breaths. It was just a dream, he told himself. But it was true. What would he do? It was inevitable that he would have to face his father in one way or another. What would he do if he had to go up against his father, or worse, Rishid?

Marik shivered. There was no way he could go up against Rishid. He was like his brother. Perhaps, Marik hoped, perhaps Rishid could help us?

_Fool, don't forget you're escaping with a thief and a murderer. There's no way he'll allow that._

Marik winced.

"Shut up!" he yelled. But he was right. He was always right. Rishid, and Ishizu. There was no way he could go up against them. He couldn't abandon them either.

_But you must, Marik. If you want to leave, to find true freedom, unrestrained, you will have to leave them behind. They don't understand you like I do._

"But, they're my family," Marik muttered.

_And so is your father. But, then, what kind of family forces their own to remain locked up beneath the ground, shackled from the Outside and made a prisoner to a future you never chose?_

Marik shook his head. "Rishid and Ishizu don't have a choice either. It's all father's fault!

_You're just telling yourself that. You know as well as I that Ishizu chose to be a priestess and follow after her mother. And Rishid, well, it's obvious how much he looks up to your father. He still looks at you with jealous eyes, you know._

"Shut up! You're lying!"

_Come now, Marik, when have I ever lied to you?_

Marik exhaled deeply. He shook out the thoughts in his head and discarded them aside.

"That's enough." He said quietly. "I don't want to deal with this right now."

_As you wish_, the voice acquitted. _But denying it will get you nowhere. Remember that._

"I know!" Marik said angrily. Only silence replied and he simply sighed and pushed himself off the bed. Marik stretched, groaning in pleasure as his back cracked with the effort. He rubbed his back, letting his fingers idly run over the scars lining his back. They were only soft, smooth ridges, entwined and crossing over each other like pathways. Like the tomb's pathways. Marik sighed and his hand returned to his side. He hated it. The marks that kept him a prisoner. Permanently carved into his body.

The doors creaked open, and Marik lifted his gaze to greet Ishizu, who walked in, a gentle smile on her face, with a tray of food in her arms.

"Good morning, Marik. It's surprising to see you up so early. Did you sleep well?" She asked in a bright voice. Marik nodded.

"Yes, I slept fine." Ishizu flashed him another smile.

"That's good. Look! I made you something new. It's sweet rice with coconut custard and mango, a common meal from Southeast Asia." Marik managed a smile at his sister's enthusiasm. She knew how much he wished to see the Outside, to be a part of it, so she would often sneak him new things when she could. He felt a tug at his heart. He would have to leave her, if all things went well.

"Is something wrong?" Marik started and looked up. Ishizu was watching him with concerned eyes. He blinked and grinned.

"No I'm fine, sorry. Just got lost in thought." He wandered to his desk where Ishizu had placed the food and slumped in his seat. His stomach growled at the new but sweetly tantalizing. He shoveled some of the sticky rice in his mouth with a spoon and his eyes widened in surprise.

"It's so sweet!" he exclaimed, used to the usual breakfast of beghrir with butter and honey or midammis beans and ta'miya.

"Isn't it? I was told kids enjoy it. But don't tell father. You know how he is. It's just a treat," Ishizu said secretively. Marik narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not a kid, sis." He growled, but took another spoonful of rice and custard regardless. Ishizu smiled warmly, patiently watching as Marik bolted up his breakfast and washed it down with some sheep's milk. After he finished, Ishizu gathered the tray.

"Your father is busy dealing with some pressing issues in the Central Wing today, so Rishid will tutor you for the day. You'll have the afternoon to yourself though, alright?" Marik nodded. This was good, he could execute the plan sooner than he'd thought. From what he'd recently noticed, the guard was tightened at night, so, though during the day they were more likely to be seen, they were less likely to be hindered. The plan would be executed tonight.

"Marik, is that alright?" Marik blinked and looked up. Ishizu smiled wryly. "Were you daydreaming again?" She teased. He smiled sheepishly.

"Yeah, sorry. Didn't get much sleep last night." He apologized.

"It's fine. You can sleep a bit more if you would like. Rishid won't be down here for another hour or so." She said brightly, before turning on her heels and exiting the room. Marik watched her go, her long dark hair flowing around her shoulders with every step. Marik sighed, his heart sinking in his chest. He hated lying to his sister. And he knew it would be the last time he saw her.

When Rishid arrived, Marik was lying on his bed, dozing off, his mind filled with the images of palm trees and colorful markets from the magazine clippings Ishizu had smuggled him every now and then. Rishid's eyes softened as he watched the sleeping boy, a small smile at his lips. Gently, he reached out and shook Marik's shoulder.

"Master Marik, it's time to wake up." Marik mumbled something under his breath and rubbed a sleep-heavy eye, before blinking up at Rishid, his purple eyes wide and bright. Rishid grinned.

"It's time for your classes now, master Marik." Marik nodded and sat up on his bed.

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me Master, Rishid? You're like my brother, you know." Rishid blinked, slightly taken aback. He managed a small smile and sighed.

"Yes. Forgive me, Marik." The young Egyptian smiled and skipped to his desk. The session went by quickly, and for once, Marik enjoyed his lesson. Rishid enjoyed adding small tidbits of interesting facts, such as details about the Pharaohs private lives.

"Are you serious? Ramses had over 100 children?" Marik gasped. Rishid grinned.

"Well, that's what they say. He had about a dozen or so wives, you know." Marik stared at him in horror.

"That's terrible!" Rishid blinked and looked down at the boy, who had suddenly paled and was looking down in a mixture of confusion and dread.

"Wh–" Rishid clamped his mouth shut. Of course, he thought. Marik's mother died giving birth to him. Of all people, Marik would be the most repulsed by the thought of childbirth. Rishid kneeled beside the boy.

"It's alright, Marik. All this happened many, many years ago, and Ramses was a bit indulgent. Most people don't have a dozen wives. Not even the pharaoh." Marik looked up sheepishly and managed a small smile.

"I would hope not. That's a lot of nagging mothers." Rishid laughed heartily and rubbed Marik's head.

"That's for sure." Rishid stood up and shuffled through the test Marik had written down.

"Well, I think that's enough for today. I would offer to play bocce but I'm afraid your father has asked for my assistance with something today. And you look like you could get some rest." Marik nodded, trying to hide the look of disappointment on his face. As Rishid turned away, Marik suddenly felt his heart tighten.

"Rishid –" he called out. Rishid continued on, and Marik realized the word hadn't left his throat. He tried again, more forcefully. This time Rishid turned back to look at him questioningly. Marik immediately stumbled from his chair and threw himself at Rishid, clutching at the surprised young man's tunic. Rishid looked down and gently embraced the young boy.

"Mas– Marik? What's the matter?" He asked concernedly. Marik only clutched the tunic tighter and buried his head in Rishid's torso. Rishid kneeled and tightly hugged the young Egyptian.

"If there's anything you need, you can always come to me, alright Marik?" Marik looked up, his eyes brimming with tears. He wanted so much to break down, tell Rishid everything – his wishes to escape, his hatred for the tomb and the initiation and the pharaoh – but he couldn't. Not now. Not anymore. So he willed the tears back, pushed the conflicting emotions down his throat, and nodded. Rishid pulled Marik away, reaching into his pant pockets. He pulled out a pair of glistening gold objects – earrings, perhaps, long and slender with a cylindrical, triangular point – and held them out in the palm of his hand. Marik detached his trembling fingers from Rishid's tunic and gathered the earrings in his own hands. A small, mournful smile touched Rishid's lips.

"They were mothers. I think… she would have wanted you to have them. Keeps her close." Marik stared in awe at the golden trinkets, so small and fragile even in his own hands.

"Thank you." He whispered, closing his fingers over them protectively. Rishid smiled and ruffled Marik's hair familiarly.

"Of course. And when you turn thirteen, I'll personally pierce your ears myself." Marik grinned.

"Okay!" Rished flashed him a last smile and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Marik's hands tightened around the earrings. They felt as heavy as iron in his grip, and weighed down on his heart as heavily as in his hands.

"Except…" he murmured, in a mournful air, "you'll never see me turn thirteen, Rishid."

...

**.:Author's Notes:.** Anywone bawling? Haaah. That wasn't supposed to be that mopey, but I liked the whole earrings touch.

Anywho feed my review whore Nessy! SHE APPRECIATES!

-DxH


	6. Chapter 6: Escape

**.:Author's Note:. **Heeeeyyy guys! Sorry this chapter took so long. I've been a bit busy lately and never had the chance to upload it. It's annoying when I know what's supposed to happen, but I get writer's block every time I try to scribble it down. Anyways, Akefia and Marik finally begin their escape!

Enjoy the story and remember to review!

-DxH

...

Chapter Six: Escape

...

As the sun began to fall from its peak in the sky, Marik pulled on his brown cloak and rushed down the empty corridor. He slid open the hidden doorway and scrambled through it before shutting it, a little louder than he would have liked. After listening for any movement outside the room, he turned about and strode briskly to the wooden chest at the end of the room. He opened it and pulled out the copper map-holder, setting it on the table before rummaging through the chest, where he found a small leather side-pack, decorated with a large, eerie, gold eye.

Marik pulled out a small ivory-handled dagger, tucked in a small leather sheath, and cautiously removed it from its covering. The steel blade was slightly rusted, but the edge was still sharp and could come to good use. Marik shuddered before sheathing the knife. Since the initiation, he'd carried with him a deep and undeniable abhorrence to knives. He felt his back tingle and quickly shoved the dagger in a small leather sheath, tossing it into the side-pack. Marik dug into his pockets and pulled out the gold earrings, a small box of matches, and a thick cloth. He shoved these into the pack as well, before slinging it over his shoulder and pulled his cloak back on, hiding the pack.

Marik retrieved the map from its case, slipping the holder in his bag, and looked around the room one last time. The dim flickering of the candles against the cool walls, the various, strange objects, the armchair; this room had been his sanctuary and one true escape. Marik blew out the candles – which never had been extinguished since his discovery – and left the room forever.

With vague knowledge of the path, Marik hastily made his way through the corridors towards a room he seldom ventured in – the kitchen. Thanking the Gods for having met no more than a servant along his way, he darted into the empty room, shutting the wooden door behind him. At this time of day, no one was present, especially not on the day before Sham El Nesseem. Marik had recently discovered that the day of fasting was conveniently occurring a few days from when he'd decided on his plan.

'No one will be in the kitchen until at least three hours from now,' Marik thought triumphantly as he rummaged through the wooden cupboards.

Finding, at last, a small bottle of yellow-white powder, he grabbed from behind several other medical herbs and powders and set it on the clay counter. He grabbed two wooden bowls and a casserole, in which he poured two cups of sheep's milk. He placed the casserole on the makeshift stove – little more than a small hole in the counter above a small rusty iron stove filled with hot coals. As the milk steadily simmered and warmed on the stove, Marik popped the cork off the bottle and grabbed a small spoon from a drawer.

Ishizu had bought the powder from a pharmacist from the Outside as a painkillers and sleeping drug for when Marik had been recovering from the Initiation.

"Two spoonfulls is the normal dose…" he muttered pensively. "Eight should do the trick." Marik stirred in eight spoonfuls of powder into the simmering before closing the bottle and returning it to its rightful place. He then adding a few small slices of vanilla stalk to hide the bitter taste of the medicine. Once the milk was properly warm, Marik gingerly poured the drink into the two wooden bowls, hissing as some of the milk splashed onto his finger. He quickly put the empty casserole down and lifted his burnt finger to his lips, only to freeze and dash to the sink.

"Almost forgot… not a good idea." He winced, washing his hands and rinsing the casserole. After having cleaned up behind him, Marik placed the two bowls on a wooden tray and cautiously made his way out of the kitchen. He glanced around, but saw no one, and proceeded.

'Where is everyone?' He wondered. However, the boy didn't question his luck and hastily made his way towards the Central Wing. As he rounded the last corridor and headed into the Central Wing, Marik was suddenly caught off guard as a figure nearly ran into him. He froze, keeping his gaze glued to the tray in his hands, and felt every vein in his face run cold.

"Hmmmm? What are you doing here, young one?" The person asked in voice Marik did not recognize, brittle with age, and raspy. Marik slowly looked up to timidly greet a tall man, wrinkled and white-haired with age, with baggy, yellowed eyes and a crooked nose. His long white robes hinted that he might have been a priest or a scribe – not that Marik saw much of either since they all remained in the Central Wing. Marik mentally swore, swallowing as the old man's hollow eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

"I… uh… Ishizu asked me to bring this down… to the guards… you know, for a drink." The man studied Marik for a few lasting seconds, before flitting his eyes down to the frothing bowls. Marik bit his cheek, praying that his hands wouldn't tremble, or the pallor of his skin wouldn't be noticed. Every second was begrudgingly slow, and with each breath Marik feared failure – that his plan would be discovered and all his planning would be for naught. He'd known he'd eventually bump into someone, and had come up with an excuse, but his mind and body had gone numb at the stranger's first touch.

_'Please, Ra, if anything, let this one endeavor succeed. I will ask no more of you!'_ he pleaded silently. The man leaned forward to gather a whiff of the milk, and Marik tried not to wrinkle his nose as he caught the scent of moldy parchment and sour milk.

"Ah… sheep's milk and vanilla. How reminiscent of my earlier days, though I'd always have a date or two to accompany it." The man sighed. "Well, let me not hinder you any longer. It's up that-a way. Oh and," Marik stiffened as the man tugged on his cloak with two pale fingers, "good thinking with the cloak. Darn cold down there." Marik nodded, and with a vague gesture to his left, the man gathered his robes and vigorously shuffled away with all the briskness an old man weathered under the tombs could muster. It wasn't until the steps of the man were muffled and lost in the corridors that Marik released the breath he realized he'd been holding. He steadied himself, clutching the tray firmly in trembling hands and, with newfound haste, hurried on in the direction he'd been pointed to.

As he passed through the main room of the Central Wing, Marik cast a longing glance at the center of the room, where a large, marble sundial stood motionless beneath the light of the Outside. Marik tore his gaze from the unfamiliar beam and rushed past it.

After passing the main room, Marik found the entrance to the dungeon room. He set the tray down and opened the door, peering down the dim, torch-lit, stone staircase which winded down into the darkness. Swallowing, Marik picked up the tray and cautiously made his way down the stairs, careful not to slip on the stairs. The damp rock felt cold beneath his naked feet, and Marik shivered as he descended further down into the cold and dank dungeon. When the stairs finally ended, Marik looked up to see a small space, empty except for two wooden benches and a few rusty hooks nailed into the walls.

"Who's there?" Marik started as one of the guards who'd been sitting slumped on a bench stood up to greet him, spear in hand. The guard was tall, and large – a good three times his size – dressed in only a cloak, a cloth skirt, and a light tunic. Another man he hadn't spotted rose from behind the first guard and joined him in curiously observing the small visitor. He was dressed similarly, though much smaller and skinnier, a cautious hand placed on the pummel of his sword, and eyed Marik suspiciously.

"Uh… would you like something to drink?" Marik asked timidly. The guards exchanged a glance before the first cocked an eyebrow.

"Who sends it?" he growled.

"M... my sister," Marik stuttered. The huge man was becoming more and more intimidating by the minute. And longer and Marik feared he might faint. "Ishizu thought you… might enjoy something warm after sitting down here in the cold all the time." The slighter guard tentatively picked up one of the bowls and smelled it.

"What's in it? This sure doesn't smell like just sheep's milk." Marik felt his palms moisten.

"Just… vanilla," he said. The guard nodded appreciatively and took a sip. He smiled, eyebrows lifting.

"This is pretty good," he grinned. The larger guard grabbed the other bowl and downed it in three gulps, belching loudly.

"Oh you're right. Really hit the spot too." The man turned back to Marik, grinning widely, and slapped him heartily on the back. Marik stumbled forward against the firm, though well meaning, touches. "Sorry if I scared you, little guy," he said humorously. "Can't be too careful now days. That thief's bound to have connections." The other guard, who was draining the last of his milk, nodded in agreement.

"True that. At least the Palace is getting him off our hands tomorrow. I was starting to get sick of it down here. No one to talk to but the rats and this big oaf."

"Hey, watch your mouth," the larger guard growled playfully. Marik watched this exchange with large eyes. A tumult of questions ran through his mind. Why wasn't the drug acting up yet? Had he put enough? Would it work? Would they realize what he'd done and kill him before the drug put them to sleep? Suddenly, the smaller guard yawned, stretching his arms.

"Damn… I'm really tired all of a sudden. I think it's the milk. Isn't there something in milk that's supposed to help you sleep or something?"

"Yeah, you're right." The other guard agreed, sitting down on the bench.

Marik said nothing but tried instead to contain a sound of glee as he realized the medicine was doing its job. The large guard eyed Marik curiously, his eyes becoming heavy with sleep.

"Whad'ya say was in…that…?" Seconds later, both guards were slumped against the wall snoring infernally. Marik took a deep breath and exhaled, allowing his jittered nerves to relax. The drug should work for a good few hours so he wouldn't have to worry about them for a while.

Marik searched both guards, and smiled victoriously as he found a ring of keys attached to the larger guard's waist by a thin rope. He cut the rope with his knife and rummaged through the keys, trying each one into the rusty lock. When one of the keys finally fit appropriately, he strained against the lock and, with a triumphant click, pushed the dungeon door open. Marik removed the keys and closed the door behind him, locking it from the inside. He dashed towards the last cell, breathlessly stopping before it. A familiar, dark shape shifted in the corner.

"So, you came." The voice, cold as ice, asked from the corner of the cell.

"I did. Just like I promised." Marik said, surprised at the firmness of his tone. He held up the keys. "I'll deliver you from here. But you have to take me with you, just like you promised." A small glimmer of white shimmered from the dark.

"Of course." Akefia acquitted. Marik immediately shuffled with the keys, inserting them one by one into the rusty black lock. Finally, the lock clicked open and the jail door screeched open.

Marik stepped back and watched with a racing heart as the dark figure molded from the shadows, tearing himself from the darkness as if it were where he belonged, padded forward a few steps before stopping. Marik paused, not understanding why the thief wasn't leaving the cell. A jangle of chains caught his attention as the thief moved his foot and Marik hastily understood. He shuffled into the cell, wrinkling his nose at the strong smell of decay and god knows what else, and unlocked the cuffs binding the thief's slender feet.

Marik quickly stood to his feet and left the cell, grabbing a torch from its hold on the wall and setting it against the back wall beside him. He knocked against the stones, pressed with the urgency to find the movable piece that would lead them to their freedom. Marik heard a slight creaking behind him and turned to see the thief standing outside the cell, piercing blue eyes locked on his. Marik shuddered, shocked by how emancipated the man looked. Dark bruises littered every chunk of flesh exposed from beneath his long, dirt-muddied red coat, which only served to make the thief appear smaller. Dark circles hung beneath his sallow eyes, and the dark scar lingering over his eye only served to make the figure all the more menacing. The thief blinked slowly, and a small smirk touched his chapped lips.

"I've looked worse, you know," he muttered. Marik blushed, realized he'd been staring rather rudely.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "All those bruises… did you get them from when you were escaping?" The thief looked down at his body and back up again.

"Some of them. The rest the guards gave me for fun." Marik's eyes widened in horror.

"They… what? That's horrible!" He cried. He remembered the kind grin and hearty slap of the burly guard and shuddered to think he was capable of such cruelty. The thief grinned, pearly white teeth glittering eerily in the firelight.

"Well, I don't blame him. I did kill his brother." Marik swallowed. He remembered the lifeless corpses of the guards in the tomb, and was reminded that the man in front of him had been justly imprisoned. For a minute, Marik paused, hand resting on the stones. If he released the thief, he would be releasing a murderer into freedom. Was his own freedom worth it?

_Of course it is._

Marik glared at the wall meaningfully, resuming his search, until his hand glided over a familiarly different stone. He strained against it, and to his delight, the stone began to slide forward. As the entryway finally opened, Marik released a small squeak of triumph. He turned to alert the thief, when a cold, brittle hand clamped itself over his mouth. Marik froze in shock and fear, the scent of dirt and blood wafting nauseously up his nose. The white haired thief crouched beside him, eyes fixed on the door, and quietly motioned for him to listen. Marik held his breath, straining his ears when he heard the faint opening and closing of a door far away, and the gentle echo of footsteps getting gradually closer. The blood in his veins ran cold and his body stiffened.

_'Not now,_' he pleaded anxiously. '_We can't be stopped yet.'_ The thief suddenly removed his hand and shook Marik from his state of trepidation.

"Hurry." He hissed. Marik managed a tight nod and hastily pushed the loose brick aside, leaving the passage open. He looked up at the man, whose gaze was locked on the door, and tugged on the end of his coat, urging him to go through. Akefia glanced at the passage, grabbed the torch, dropped into a crouch, and began slinking through the hole. Within seconds, he'd disappeared into the dark. Marik heard a cry of surprise from behind him, causing him to jump. The visitor had apparently found the sleeping guards and realized the keys were missing. Marik crouched and hurriedly scuffled through the passage, wincing as the visitor thumped loudly against wooden dungeon door in a futile attempt to open it. As soon as the young Egyptian pulled through, Akefia easily slid the stone back into place and roughly pulled Marik up to his feet.

"Lead the way," he growled, shoving the torch in the Tombkeeper's hands and pushing him forward into the dark. Marik nodded tensely and retraced the somewhat familiar path through the dank passage. When they reach the ladder, Marik handed Akefia the torch and, with the smallest amount of movements as possible, clambered up the rusty ladder and pushed open the trap door with a grunt. He crawled out into the room, sneezing as a disturbed cloud of dust irritated his nose. He looked back at the thief, about to warn him about the ladder, when, in three agile bounds, the man leapt through the hole and crouched beside him, torch still in hand. Marik blinked, impressed by the sheer agility and grace exhibited by the man. However, the thief impatiently urged him on with a wave of his hand and Marik grabbed the map from his pack, accepting the torch, and began making his way through the dark, winding passages of the West Wing.

As they passed through the room furnished with threatening metal object, Marik averted his gaze and hurried forward, only to realize the thief was no long behind him. He whirled around, nerves poised, to see Akefia standing beside a large contraption of unknown use, made up of a simple cross-shaped wooden platform, with rusty cuffs at each end. Two thick chains hung from above, lengths likely controlled by a pulley beside the platform, sharp, wicked hooks hovering over the center of the platform at the end of the chains.

"What… is that?" Marik asked cautiously, sidling up next to the young man.

"A torture device. A person would be laid out and bound to this platform here" he gesticulated towards the cross shaped platform "and their stomachs would be ripped open. Then, the torturer would lower the hooks and pull the unlucky prisoner's organs out one by one. The liver, intestines, stomach – everything that wasn't vital for immediate health – would be pulled out in front of the very victim's eyes." Marik felt his stomach lurch in discomfort, and averted his eyes from the cruel looking hooks. He heard Akefia chuckle beside him.

"Imagine watching yourself being disemboweled. Not a very pleasant way to go."

The thief strode past it, disappearing into the darkness until the nervous Egyptian followed him, passing beside threatening looking objects and contrivances. He skidded to a halt with a muffled gasp as he found Akefia, standing motionless in front of a wall covered in every imaginable weapon. Marik's eyes widened. Curved scythes, long and broadswords, rusty machetes, huge maces the size of his head and covered with pointed metal spikes, nets of chains, sharp spears – deadly looking weapons shimmered threateningly in the firelight, looming over Marik and casting flickering shadows over a fungus-covered wall. Marik cringed beneath the sight.

_'Why?_' he thought furtively. _'Why would so many weapons be present within the tomb, a place of sacred peace and worldly knowledge?'_ He started as Akefia began sorting through a pile of daggers on a small stone table leaning against the wall.

"What are you doing?" Marik hissed. Akefia glanced darkly at him.

"Grabbing a weapon, idiot. We can't just go out there empty handed." Marik opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He closed his mouth, and meekly watched as the thief rummaged through a pile of rusty daggers of various shapes and sizes. He flinched as Akefia tossed a chipped, curved dagger to the floor.

"You're probably wondering what this stash of weapons is doing in the middle of your precious tomb," the thief commenced, examining a small, double edged dagger and pocketing it satisfactorily. Marik sunk back as the thief whirled around and stepped towards him. His ice clue eyes danced with the flame of the torch, emitting a similarly ominous exuberance.

"There is much you do not know about this place, Marik Ishtar," he whispered. "Come, we must hurry." And with that, the thief brushed past him and disappeared into the dark.

...

**.:Author's Note:.** So? What did you think? Akefia is such a creep - evil, sadistic, cruel... man I love him xD He'll melt a bit later. And for those like "OH GOD MARIK IS ONLY 12! AKEFIA IS SUCH A PEDO!" Nothing has happened yet, if you haven't noticed. There's going to be a time lag before anything happens, so don't worry about that.

-DxH


	7. Chapter 7: Confrontation

**.:Author's Note:. **GEH. FINALLY. I have no idea why but this chapter was SO EVIL. It was practically impossible to write for some strange reason. But good news! I've already written a good five chapters after this already, so updates should be a bit more frequent now. I have one chapter I'm going to insert in between some I already wrote, but otherwise, I'm on a pretty good roll.

So uh... the more gory, violent part of the story is beginning now. STUFF ACTUALLY HAPPENS *legasp* Get ready for some gut-churning shit :D Thanks to all my loyal readers and reviewers! I really appreciate the positive feedback and any tips and such for bettering my writing.

-DxH

...

Chapter Seven: Confrontation

...

Marik and Akefia hurried through the tomb, until they reached the exit of the West Wing. Marik swallowed, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He cautiously opened the hidden passage, eyes darting furtively through the space for guards or other passerbyers, and seeing none, slipped through, allowing Akefia after him.

The two scurried through the hallways, the patter of their footsteps echoing lightly against the stone, making Marik wince, until he realized he was the one making all the noise, and the thief's own steps were veiled in silence. Marik tried to ease his weight on the balls of his feet to lessen the noise, but it only made him stumble, and he kept to searching the map.

A sudden noise caused him to halt immediately, the thief behind him jerking to a stop as well, ears cocked.

Voices, relatively distant, echoed from before them. Marik stiffened. He heard the steps of at least two people, hushed voices exchanging words that reverberated in the enclosed space. He darted forward, the thief close at his heeds, and turned sharply at a junction, standing with his back to the wall against the direction of the approaching people. The thief blew out the nearest torch, engulfing them both in shadows, and pressed himself to the wall beside Marik. The tombkeeper held his breath, willing his nervous heart, which beat loudly against his chest, to quiet lest it be heard. He choked back a gasp when he saw the thief quietly pull out the small dagger out of the corner of his eye, hand wrapped tightly around its hilt and body poised towards the corner of the hall.

The voices and footsteps grew louder as the passersby neared. Marik felt as though his heart would leap from his chest at any second. Before he knew it, two men, guards equipped only with swords at their waists, entered into his view. Marik squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to disappear into the wall. After several excruciating seconds, the boy opened his eyes. The sound of the guard's voices and footsteps were vanishing in the opposite direction. He heaved a sigh, noting Akefia as he put the dagger away, and, with a glance in both directions, continued down the hall.

When they reached the end, Marik recognized the two large double-doors he'd been looking for. He glanced in the opposite direction where several guards paroled the area. Apparently the alarm hadn't been rung yet. He pulled off his bag and rummaged through it, pulling out the matches. The thief watched him thoughtfully, following every movement with wary curiosity. Marik looked up at Akefia.

"Stay here. I'm going to provide a distraction so we can lure the guards away. The only exit is beyond this room, behind the guards and through the hallway. It's locked though, so you'll have to quickly deal with that. As soon as the guards' attention is drawn away, we make a dash for it." The thief lifted an eyebrow, impressed.

"You seem to have well thought this through, little one," he noted. Marik blushed at the praise and nodded.

"I probably know this tomb better than my father." He turned back to the double doors. Akefia's eyes followed him closely.

"I do hope you don't get yourself caught. I'm not feeling so crisp as to go about fighting off those armed brutes over there, disoriented and useless as they may be" the white-haired young man noted. Marik nodded.

"I should be able to leave unseen. If I get caught, leave me behind. They won't know you were with me." The thief's lips parted in a chilling grin.

"You have guts, kid," he purred, "I'm looking forward to your act." Marik averted his gaze and looked back at the doors, which seemed to loom over him the longer he stared at them. He wiped his sweating palms on his tunic, stuffed the matches in his pockets, and stood up straight, lifting his chin, and stepped out into the light of the room.

Marik briskly strode towards the doors and placed a hand on the ivory handle when a deep voice addressed him.

"Hey kid, what are you doing here?" Marik stiffened, and turned around, masking his emotions behind an innocent face. A large guard, brandishing a long spear, eyed him suspiciously. Marik noticed Akefia place a hand on the hilt of his dagger from the corner of his eye.

"I was going to get a book for my studies," Marik replied simply. The guard cocked an eyebrow.

"I haven't seen you around these parts. Are you sure you're allowed to be here?" Marik's innocent expression turned into one of frustration as he furrowed his brows together.

"I," he emphasized loudly, "am the Tombkeeper. I have every right to summon a book from the library to enhance my studies. Now unless you'd like to hamper my education, I can easily summon my father to see what he thinks about this." The guard's eyes widened and his expression turned from menacing to quite embarrassed. He lowered his eyes and nodded.

"Right… excuse me young master, I did not recognize you." Marik narrowed his eyes for good measure.

"I would think not," he snapped before turning on his heel and disappearing through the huge doors. Once inside the room, the boy released a shaky sigh, regaining his shaken composure as he leaned against the doors. He wasn't used to acting so commanding, and the action nearly terrified him. He slowly pushed himself off the doors and eyed the vast rows of shelves covered in old manuscripts, dusty novels, and leather-bound books that would fall apart at a touch. The room was perfectly dry to prevent the formation of mold.

"It's almost too perfect," the boy mumbled, pulling out a match from his pocket. He struck it against the surface of the floor and touched the small flame to the corner of a thick volume. The flame dwindled, before latching on to its prey and devouring it with eager intensity. Marik spread the flame to as many books as he could, lighting the other matches and flicking them on other bookstands. He coughed as a thick cloud of smoke began forming in the room, accompanied by the heat and hungry crackling of the flames.

Marik nearly jumped when he heard the doors of the library slam open and the cries of the guards. He darted behind a nearby shelf, crouching down to avoid the worst of the smoke which pricked at his eyes. Marik peered around it to see several guards come running into the room and begin beating at the shelves with their discarded tunics. Another ran in the room with a vase of water which he poured on the worst of the flames. Marik jumped away from the bookshelf which was quickly being consumed by the hungry fire, and sprang towards the doorway, clouded by gray smoke.

The boy emerged, coughing violently, and blindly groping his way through the haze when a cold hand grabbed him roughly by the arm and jerked him to the side. He struggled momentarily until he noticed a shock of thick white hair. Marik blinked and rubbed his tear-stained eyes, looking up to return the thief's white-toothed grin.

"I suppose it's time to hightail out of here," Akefia said. Marik nodded and they darted towards the exit on the other side of the room. Just as they neared the pillars separating them from the other room, a guard loudly stumbled out of the library and looked up. His eyes widened and he pointed an accusing finger at the thief.

"It's the prisoner! The prisoner has escaped!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. The other guards quickly retracted from the fire and stared at the quickly retreating duo, debating whether to follow suit or fix the library fire.

In the meantime, Marik and Akefia wasted no time in making a break for it. They wound through several rooms, through a long hallway, and emerged in a large, pillar-supported room. A huge golden eye loomed over them atop a door-less entry across from the two.

"It's just through there," Marik pointed out. The thief nodded and they quickly made their way to the entry.

"Marik!" The boy froze. Akefia slowed and looked back at the still boy, narrowing his eyes.

"Marik," more softly this time, the voice called out to him, deep, familiar, commanding. Marik trembled and slowly turned around. His father, Aknadin, dressed in a long, flowing tunic glared at him from beneath a white hood. Four guards followed behind him, circling around the pair of escapees.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked in a deep, booming voice that resonated in the room. Akefia slid closer to Marik, crouching and keeping his eyes on the steadily approaching guards, spears unabashedly pointed at him. Marik remained silent, choked by shock and a gripping, unnatural fear. He heard a squeak and glanced up to see Ishizu, staring at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, hands pressed against her mouth. Marik's mouth dried and he licked his lips nervously, trying to hide his trembling hands.

"Hello… father." Marik finally managed to say. Akefia's eyes snapped up, glancing from Marik to the intimidating man before them. Aknadin blinked slowly, glancing at the thief and back to his son.

"I asked you what was the meaning of this," the man emphasized. "What are you doing with this man? Don't you know he is a murderous criminal? A thief?" Marik flinched and clenched the hems of his tunic.

"I know," he replied dryly. Aknadin sighed.

"I see. And what, pray tell, were you hoping to accomplish by freeing this criminal?"

"I wanted to be free." Aknadin froze, staring at the young boy who stood, defiantly returning his gaze with blazing eyes that made the man uncomfortable. Something dark lurked within that gaze. He snarled.

"Free? Free from what? Your duties? Are you going to run away like a petty coward? I thought I'd raised you better than that," the man sneered.

"This isn't my duty!" Marik returned heatedly, "I never wanted this life! I want to go out and see the real world. I don't want to be confined to this prison you've locked me in!" Aknadin's eyes flared and he made a quick gesture towards the guards.

"Well that's too bad, because you aren't going anywhere," he hissed. Marik's eyes widened as two of the guards circled around them, blocking the exit.

"Father, you can't do this!" Marik pleaded. His father's gaze remained firm and his jaw set.

"You are coming home, and you will stay here. And this thief," he glanced at the thief, who bore his teeth and hissed threateningly, "will be put down like the bloodthirsty animal he is." Marik snapped his eyes shut.

"NO!" He screamed. At that instant, something inside him snapped. A trigger, perhaps. Some kind of emotional switch.

Marik slowly opened his eyes.

"I am afraid, dear father, that I won't be going anywhere." Aknadin froze. His eyes locked on to those of the boy standing across from him, and a cold chill spread over his skin. He growled. Those eyes. They weren't his sons. Not his pathetic, sniveling young child. These eyes were as cold and dark as the deepest depths of the earth. The amethyst in his eyes gleamed unnaturally, and the boy's disposition completely changed.

Akefia eyed the boy next to him. Something had changed. The child was no longer trembling; his left hand twitched and unconsciously smoothed out a wrinkle in his tunic. His eyes no longer held any fear, only a quiet, contemplative, coolness that even the thief cringed at. Marik began to move.

He took one step forward, then another, slowly making his way across the room until his stood face-to-face with his father. One of the guards shifted closer to Aknadin, warily eying Marik's movements.

"I will leave." Marik spoke once more, his voice cold and emotionless, precise and without a hint of doubt or wavering. It was a statement. Aknadin started and regained his composure with a dark scowl.

"You will do no such thing!" he snarled, raising a hand and backhanding the young boy across the face with a crack. Marik stumbled to the side and touched his cheek, before straightening and turning his face around to once again meet his father's eyes. A cold smile touched his lips, and a hint of cruel amusement danced in his lifeless eyes. Aknadin yowled in fury and raised his hand again, but before it could connect with Marik's face, the boy's hand shot out and latched around the man's arm.

"That wasn't a very good idea," he whispered sensuously. The boy tightened his grip on the man's arm, and flicked his hand to the side. A muffled snap resonated through the room. The guards stood, dumbfounded as Aknadin fell to his knees with an earsplitting howl, cradling the snapped wrist that Marik unceremoniously released and let drop. While his father whimpered and cursed in pain, the boy kicked him over and reached a hand into the man's tunic, pulling out a large golden rod, a round eye flanked by two wings at the top. Akefia's eyes widened and he stared with conspicuous interest at the object in Marik's hands. The boy quietly examined the article, an appreciative smile on his lips.

The guards suddenly snapped from their shock, and two of them advanced on Marik with raised spears.

"Put that down, kid, and put your hands up," they warned. Marik tossed the rod up and snatched it back out of the air.

"No, I rather like it," he replied nonchalantly, "I think I'll keep it." The guards growled and drew closer. Akefia debated whether to make a dash to disarm them, but the two other guards raised their weapons in turn. Marik simply raised the rod, pointing the eye at the closest guard.

Immediately, a strange energy filled the air – something dark and unnatural, and powerful. The guard blinked, and was suddenly thrown through the air into the wall behind him with a crash. Marik turned the rod to the other guard, and equally launched him into another wall, sending him into the realm of unconsciousness. He turned to the guards surrounding Akefia.

Akefia glanced at the guard on his left, who cringed beneath Marik's gaze, unsure of the powers he was facing. The thief used that moment of uncertainty to dash behind the man, unsheathe his own dagger, and slice the man's throat open. With a shocked gurgle, the man fell to his knees, clawing at his throat, before slumping to the ground, twitching twice before releasing his last breath. The last guard eyed the two with wide, frightened eyes, and made a frantic dash for the doorway behind Marik. The tombkeeper flicked his rod and the man crashed back into the ground, his head cracking loudly as it connected with the floor. The guard's body immediately went limp.

Aknadin, during the commotion, had managed to push away most of the pain and stood shakily on his feet, cradling his broken wrist and breathing heavily, glaring at Marik. Ishizu had watched the entire events unfold without a word, and stood trembling in the corner of the room, hands still latched over his mouth as tears poured over her cheeks.

"Return that rod immediately," Aknadin threatened between choked gasps. Marik made a sound between a throaty chuckle and a hum.

"Why should I?" he asked. "It is rightfully mine, after all."

"That's a lie! The rod will only be passed down to you when you have become my rightful heir at my passing," Aknadin snarled. Marik's grin widened and his gaze slowly shifted over his shaking father.

"Oh yes, of course. You're right. But then," he took a step forward, "that can easily be arranged." Aknadin's eyes rounded but before he could move, Marik raised the rod and slammed the man into the wall behind him. Ishizu squeaked and shuffled away, stumbling over her long dress.

With his father pinned to the wall by the dark power of the rod, Marik slowly walked over to him, pulling off the end of the rod to reveal a long, thin, pointed dagger. Aknadin's eyes widened.

"You wouldn't dare," he hissed. Marik grinned. Suddenly, a loud shriek interrupted them. Marik turned irritably to see Ishizu dash up to them and step in between the boy and his father.

"Marik, stop this immediately!" Marik frowned irritably as Ishizu stood before him, tears bursting from her eyes as she pleaded before her younger brother. "Please," she insisted, "I know you don't want to do this! This isn't you! Not the sweet young Marik that I know." Marik grimaced.

"Don't intervene, woman. Move away now." He ordered. Ishizu flinched, and began trembling again, but did not move from her position between them. Angrily, Marik waved the rod at his sister. Ishizu's breath caught as she was suddenly lifted off the ground and thrown against the wall, where she slumped lifelessly to the ground. Akefia darted over to the young girl, checking her pulse and noting with slight relief that she had simply fallen into unconsciousness. He snapped his gaze towards Marik, whose interest had quickly shifted back to his restrained father.

"Kid, that's enough," Akefia warned. You've had your revenge. If you want your freedom, we have to leave now before the others arrive." Marik glowered crossly at the thief and frowned.

"Not yet," he said, "I don't want to leave yet." Akefia growled.

"That's an order, Marik," he said. The boy jerked his head angrily towards Akefia.

"Who do you think you are, thief?" he snarled contemptuously.

"I'm the one that's going to get us both out of here alive," The man argued back, "even if I have to break your arms to do it." Marik's frown turned into a sneer.

"Let's see you try," he dared. Akefia darted towards Marik with a snarl, dropping to a roll as Marik lifted his rod. He snapped back up, pulling out his dagger and aiming for the boy's arms when Marik suddenly whipped the end of the rod down with impressive speed. Akefia immediately raised his dagger to block the attack. Marik, in turn, jerked the weapon out of the thief's hand with a flick of his wrist. Akefia swore and bounded away when the boy slashed down at him, narrowly missing getting his arm amputated. However, a large gash had formed where the sharp implement had nicked his arm.

'_Damn little tyke is fast_,' Akefia thought to himself, clutching his profusely bleeding limb.

"Stay out of this," Marik ordered. Akefia growled but he knew he had no choice. Left weaponless and injured, he stood no chance against the mysteriously powerful boy.

Satisfied, Marik turned back to his father, who had gotten over his shock and addressed his son with futile spite and contempt.

"You wouldn't kill your own father!" The man's usually composed voice was now wavering on the verge of hysterical. "You don't have the guts! You're just a child! A weak child who can't even take the glory and responsibility of a great future, and instead runs away like a pathetic coward!"

"Well then," Marik leaned in until his mouth was level with his father's ears, "it's a good thing I'm not that child." The tombkeeper raised his dagger, and with a haughty laugh, drove it through his father's body. Aknadin gasped, eyes bulging, and struggled against the pain. Marik pulled out the dagger and thrust it in again, slicing through the man's stomach, intestines, lungs, and finally, his heart. But by the time he pressed the dagger against Aknadin's throat, the man he had once called father was already dead.

...

**.:Author's Note:. **Pfffff... I literally wrote this in about an hour at midnight. My eyesight is starting to waver, and I really need to get some sleep, so I apologize if there are a shit-ton of errors. I really need a beta! (any volunteers?)

Remember to leave a review! I reply to most if not all!

-DxH


	8. Chapter 8: Freedom

**.:Author's Note:.** Wow... man that's depressing. Not a single review for my last chapter. Laaaammmeee guyz~! Well, whatever. Maybe my writing is too cryptic or boring at this point. No worries, shit starts to go down now. Out protagonists start to connect, etc.

Anywho, here's the update. God I'm tired. Sorry it's so short, next chapter should be a bit longer.

Love~!

-DxH

...

_It's dark._

_Of course, I replied. I could feel Marik trembling in my arms. _

_I'm scared, he whispered._

_Of what?  
_

_I don't know. Can you help me?  
_

_I already have._

_Really? He asked dubiously. I pulled the boy closer, sheltering his fragile form, and whispered gently into his ear.  
_

_Yes._

Marik moaned and blinked, clearing his blurred vision. His head felt heavy and his body responded with slow, slugged movements that didn't feel quite so familiar. Marik reached a hand to touch his forehead, but winced as he felt his skin connect with a lukewarm, sticky, and damp substance. Marik retracted his hand and looked down. His body flushed and he unconsciously sucked in a sharp breath as he stared back at the bright, crimson liquid splayed on his hand. Marik choked back a scream and fell back, looking up wildly.

His father lay on the ground, his form lifelessly crumpled like a rag doll against a blood-stained wall. No hints of the man's intimidating glare remained in the glazed over eyes which bulged out unnaturally of their sockets and stared emptily at the cringing boy. A pool of sticky red blood clung to the man's tunic and seeped out around him, crawling lethargically at the floor. Marik let out a helpless whimper and managed to raise a hand and slowly reach out to touch the man's still corpse.

A sudden clatter echoed around the room and Marik yelped in surprise. He looked down and realized he'd been holding on to the sacred Sennen Rod. Marik's blood grew cold as he picked up the item with trembling fingers and realized the end of the rod was long and sharp, and dripping with red blood. Marik wanted to scream. He wanted to throw the Rod across the room and cry and shout and turn back time, but he simply turned and vomited on the floor, his body wracked with shock, vile sickness and disgust. Questions, confusion swarmed through his head. He suddenly heard a noise to his left and his head snapped up.

Akefia was sitting on the ground, clutching at his left arm which sported a long, bloody gash across the forearm. He stared warily at Marik, his eyes wide and alert, his body tense with pain and awareness. Marik slowly turned his gaze to the body of his sister, which lay limply against the wall. Marik's eyes widened.

"Ishizu…" he managed to whisper under his breath.

"She's fine," Akefia said calmly and quietly, "just unconscious." Marik felt his body begin to tremble.

"What happened?" He choked out, tears springing to his eyes. "Did… did I do this?"

Marik's gaze returned to Akefia, his expression both imploring and horrified. Akefia met his eyes with relative calm, but said nothing. Marik released a muffled sob and looked back at the corpse of Aknedin.

"Why?" He cried, tears falling freely down his face. Akefia remained silent, letting the boy mourn openly. Suddenly, voices emerged from close by, quick and sharp. Akefia's head sharply swiveled towards the sound, his eyes and ears piqued like a cats. Marik stifled a sob and looked up, suddenly feeling dread course through his body as the seriousness of his predicament jolted him to realization. He looked up in horror at the chamber's open doors, from where the sound of several approaching men could be heard.

Suddenly, before Marik could think, Akefia bolted upright and darted towards Marik. He roughly grabbed Marik by the hair and jerked him alert, causing the boy to emit a squeak of surprise.

"Give me the rod." He hissed, eyes boring into Marik's. Marik stared at him in fear. He suddenly remembered Akefia's original intentions and grit his teeth, clenching the rod harder. Akefia slammed Marik's head against the floor and ripped the rod from his hands as soon as the men came running in. Marik's head swam with pain and everything blurred out of focus for an excruciatingly slow few seconds. He was vaguely aware of Akefia jerking him upright by his hair and suddenly felt a cold, sharp object pressed to his throat. Marik froze immediately and blinked furiously to clear his vision.

A half-dozen Egyptian soldiers armed with brass swords and large shields barked demands at Akefia to release him. Akefia snarled in response, his eyes darting left and right for an exit. The soldiers were slowly advancing on them from either side, causing Akefia to slowly back away, keeping a tight hold on Marik and dragging him along painfully. Akefia noticed a small door to his left and, keeping the point of the rod directed at Marik's throat, kicked it open. As soon as the door's rusty hinges gave way, Akefia grabbed Marik's wrist with his good arm and darted through the doorway, pulling Marik after him.

"Run!" He roared at Marik. Marik ran. He stumbled and ran, forced up by Akefia's propelling momentum. They raced through corridors and chambers that Akefia seemed all too familiar with, the sounds of their footsteps echoing behind them and mingling with the clamor of the guards chasing after them. Akefia suddenly jerked to his right and kicked viciously at a door. It resisted the assault and stood firm until he took the rod, jammed between the wall and the door where the lock would be and pulled it down. A loud snap echoed through the long, torch-lit corridor and the door fell open. Akefia wasted no time and pushed Marik in front of him into a long, spiraling set of stone steps.

"Up, hurry!" He ordered. Marik had no choice but to obey and ran as quickly as he could up the steps, climbing higher and higher than he'd ever climbed. He could hear the voices and clambering footsteps of the soldiers hungering after them from below, spurring him further. As he grew tired, Akefia shoved forward and pulled him along by his wrist. Finally, panting and aching, Marik was slammed to a halt behind Akefia, who quickly but warily opened another wooden door. Marik immediately shut his eyes as a flooding of bright white light flashed against his eyes. He felt himself tugged onward and stepped forward uncertainly, squinting and blinking against the unfamiliar light. As his eyes began to adjust, Marik's breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened to the size of saucers.

Before him lay infinity. Where he looked, there were no walls, no boundaries. Only a wide, uneven horizon which glittered gold against the glare of a bright orange globe. Marik gasped, awestruck by the beauty and limitless gage of his surroundings. He was vaguely aware that they were situated on a mountainous stone ridge, on a narrow ledge that dropped steeply at least 100 meters. He was suddenly jerked to realization as Akefia grabbed his arm and pulled him violently to his right, down a fine path which led down the mountain.

"I blocked off the door but it won't keep them off for long." He said. Akefia thrust the rod into his robe and snapped his gaze at Marik, motioning him to go down first. "If you want to keep your life you'll follow my instructions and keep quiet."

Marik nodded wordlessly and tried to keep his footing as they quickly descended. The relatively unused path wound steeply and narrowly around and down the mountain, overgrown with shoots, weeds, and roots which threatened to trip the unwary traveler. Sometimes, the trail disappeared entirely and Akefia would bark instructions from behind, shoving him in one direction or another. Sharp, jutting rocks tore at Marik's naked feet, but he continued restlessly, a mix of confusion, panic and alarm spurring him on. He felt very conscious of the thief's overbearing presence behind him, and could almost feel his gaze boring into his back. He was afraid, definitely. Questions buzzed through his head like gnats, the most pertinent being "Will he kill me?"

Marik knew the only reason he was likely still alive is that Akefia saw him as a useful hostage and shield. However, once Akefia escaped far enough away, Marik would be nothing but useless baggage. He would either kill him or leave him. Marik shuddered as he worked his way around a jutting boulder and slid down a steep section of the path, using a few protruding roots for support. Suddenly he felt a hand grab his shoulder and violently shove him against the side of the mountain. Akefia stood close behind him, flattered against the wall, his eyes and ears locked on something above and behind them. Marik tried to calm his ragged breaths and hear over his pounding heart. After a few seconds, Marik could make out the sound of several voices, distant and indiscernible but there nonetheless. Akefia pressed him closer to the side of the mountain, and Marik was suddenly aware that the people were high above them and, from their loud footsteps, realized the soldiers were still in pursuit. He tried to quiet his breathing as his heart started up again in panic. He blinked and tried to ignore the salty sweat dripping into his eyes and the burning of the unfamiliar sun across his back. Marik wondered how Akefia, dressed in such a long, heavy robe, could stand the heat.

After the voices faded away, Akefia pushed Marik forward again.

"Quickly." He hissed urgently. With newfound haste, the two descended the rest of the mountain. At the base of the path, they reached a large dirt road that extended in two opposing directions, one of which crossed through a seemingly limited expanse of desert and rock and the other which pointed towards a distant village. Marik looked up at Akefia for further directions. The thief regarded both paths warily, his head raised up high like a predator on alert. Finally, he pushed Marik towards the path heading in the direction of the village, keeping close to the side of the mountain. When no cover was left from there to the village except for a few large boulders scattered here and there, Akefia dragged Marik back against the mountain, pulling him in a crouching position. The thief began taking off his shoes and plopped them in front of Marik, who blinked and looked up questioningly.

"Put those on." Akefia ordered sharply. "The sand is hot and we're going to be moving quickly. I don't need you slowing me down." Marik bobbed his head obediently and slipped the shoes on. Despite being slightly too big, Marik was surprised that the shoes managed to fit him. He realized, for the first time, that Akefia was not a big person. He wasn't short, but not prominently tall either, and sported a relatively small build with long limbs which allowed for a nimble grace and speed to his step that, Marik realized, perfectly befitted him as a thief. With a last look over his shoulder, Akefia shoved Marik forward, and the two began running across the road.

Less than half a minute after taking off, Marik heard heightened voices behind him. He didn't pause to look but knew that they had been spotted. He focused on his breathing and maintaining his speed as he realized he was falling behind Akefia, whose long, sure footed strides caused him to gather distance much more quickly than the stumbling boy behind him.

Suddenly Marik heard something zip past his ear and thud in the dirt in front of him. With a startled yelp, he leapt over a feathered arrow, his heart pounding and his blood flushing cold through his body. Akefia looked back towards him, eyes widening. More arrows began to rain down near them, one missing Akefia's heel by a hair's breadth.

"Behind the rocks ahead!" Akefia yelled over the wind. Marik looked up, noticing a few large boulders bundled in place together offside the road about fifty feet ahead of them. With newfound rigor, Marik sped towards the shelter, his feet pounding against the dust and sand. Another arrow shot by his left, narrowly missing his arm. As he closed in on the rocks, Marik veered off the road, Akefia who had slowly slightly, following suit. Within 10 feet of the boulder, Marik's legs were aching and screaming with the exertion and his breath came out in uneven gasps.

Without warning, Marik heard someone scream "Move" and suddenly felt something slam into his side. He fell, tumbling to the ground with a muffled yelp as the wind was knocked out of his lungs. Marik was vaguely aware of someone cursing as he was suddenly shoved against a warm surface. He gagged and gasped for air as his lungs began to recover from the blow, sucking in deep breaths of oxygen and clutching at his stomach. After having somewhat recovered, Marik blinked warm tears of pain from his eyes and looked around. He was sitting against a large boulder, the sun on his left blocked by a peak on the rock allowing him a spot of shade. He looked around for Akefia and saw the man lying at his right, his back against the rock and his breaths thick and ragged. Marik wondered why Akefia looked so high strung until his eyes fell upon a thick, black feathered arrow protruding from his right side surrounded by a spreading welt of crimson red soaking through the scarlet robe.

Akefia hissed, his teeth clenched tightly and his face contorted in anger and pain. Marik watched with a sense of horror as Akefia looked down and peeled the robe from his wound. The arrowhead was buried deep through his side, likely in between one of his ribs, and bled profusely through his clothes. Marik stared at the wound in horror, nausea storming through his head at the sight of blood. Blood dribbled from the robe and fell to the sand, which hungrily soaked it in, staining the grains crimson. Akefia cursed loudly, examining the wound while gingerly prodding it with a finger. He inhaled sharply as he hit a sensitive nerve. Marik looked away as he felt the contents of his stomach threaten to heave out through his throat. After calming down, Marik looked back at Akefia, who was pressing down on his would with one hand and clutching the arrow with the other. His heart sank and his mouth ran dry.

"You can't pull it out!" He cried frantically. "The arrow's the only thing keeping the blood from running out. If you remove it you'll die and –"

"I'm not an idiot." Akefia snapped sharply, glaring at Marik from the corner of his eyes. Marik closed his mouth and watched him, his stomach twisting into knots as Akefia placed the hand holding his wound over the one holding the arrow so that he was clutching the shaft with both hands. He took a few deep breaths, steadying his pulse, and pulled down with his left hand while his right remained locked in place. A loud snap echoed through Marik's ears. Akefia muffled a scream, biting down on his lip until it began bleeding. He held up the splintered, broken half of the arrow up and limply dropped it beside him, his hands shaking. Akefia then turned towards the Marik and outstretched his hand towards the young Tombkeeper.

"Tear off some of your tunic into bandages instead of looking at me like an idiot. Now." The thief growled, his eyes threatening. Marik paused for a minute, processing his request, then complied and began tearing the bottom of his tunic into long strips. Akefia sat up with a grunt and beckoned Marik forward, who gingerly approaching him and handed him the bandages. The thief snatched the strips and hurriedly wrapped them around his waist, covering the wound as best he could, then snapped his gaze towards the young Egyptian.

"How far away are they?" He asked sharply, his voice tense. Marik jerked out of his reverie and scrambled to his knees. He peered cautiously around the large rock and squinted against the glare of the setting sun reflected on the desert. In the far distance he saw several figures steadily advancing.

"They're about 100 meters away." Marik said, darting back behind the shelter of the rocks. He felt himself trembling as panic gnawed at his stomach. "We can't escape them. They'll cut us down with their arrows."

"No they won't." Akefia responded evenly.

The thief was slowly pushing himself to his feet, grunting in pain. Blood trickled down his leg and forked out on his foot like a snake's tongue.

"Get up." Akefia ordered roughly. Marik, filled with a mix of dread, fear, confusion, pity, and even concern, scrambled to his feet. The thief grabbed him roughly by his collar and pulled him close. Marik gasped as Akefia's face glared at him from mere inches away. His deep blue eyes had turned pale, almost glassy, and the scar across his eye seemed even more defined. Sweat ran down his face in rivulets, and his breath was ragged and uneven. Marik tried to ignore the thick scent of blood emanating from the man.

"Follow close behind me, understand? If you run away, I'll kill you." Marik nodded fearfully. The man's deep, threatening eyes offered no alternative, and he was certain the thief was still capable of murder.

"W–what if they start firing at us?" Marik stuttered meekly. Akefia released Marik and straightened with a groan.

"I doubt it. If they're aiming for me, they won't risk firing in the open with the obstruction of the desert's heat waves. They shot at us before because they were on high ground, where they had a clear shot. If they do start shooting arrows, which I doubt unless you're life is not on their priority list, start running in a zigzag pattern. If you run straight, you're an easier target." Marik nodded again, panic clogging his throat. Akefia turned away wordlessly, and with one last look back, began running from the cover of the rock. Marik took a deep breath and ran after him, spurred by a sense of fear and, rather curiously, freedom.

...


	9. Chapter 9: Runaways

**.:Author's Note:. **Eh. Finally. Sorry for taking so long on the update, guys. Fanfiction wouldn't let me edit my stories for a while, so I couldn't upload a chapter. Buuuuttt it's working now.

On another note, there a bit of connecting between the two now. Not too prominent, but it's starting.

Enjoy the chapter, and remember to leave a review!

-DxH

...

Running. After what seemed like hours, Marik could hardly feel his feet as they rhythmically pushed his pained and strained body through the desert, and almost stumbled to the ground as he was suddenly jerked to the left. He looked up, blinking and regaining his balance as he realized they had reached the large village. The sun had almost completely disappeared behind the horizon, leaving few people out on the streets. Those who did notice the two runaways quickly averted their eyes and shuffled away, seeking no trouble. Marik staggered behind Akefia, who weaved his way through the closely-packed clay houses. The thief had lasted well despite his crippling condition, but had begun to falter and was now straggling painfully through the streets, pausing every now and then to regain his breath and look back at Marik.

Finally, they emerged from the coil of houses into a small clearing of farmland surrounded by thickly packed date-palms. Looking up at his surroundings, Marik realized this side of the city was situated in a kind of gorge between two, grand, red-colored stone mountains. The sun was completely blocked off, submerging their surroundings in dark shadows. As they left the village, Marik followed the faltering thief in a forest of thickly growing green laurels, bushes, and date palms. Awestruck by the foreign sight, he looked around and saw a small, shallow river emerge from the bushes, the source of such fertility. Akefia slid down the bank and waded into the river, which nearly rose to the thief's hips. Akefia hissed as some water sloshed against his wound. Marik stared blankly and felt his heart drop. He'd never seen so much water, let alone tried to swim. Akefia realized Marik wasn't following and stopped, glaring weakly at the frozen boy.

"What the hell are you doing just standing there, get over here!" He barked. Marik jumped and began sliding down the bank. Suddenly, his foot caught on the end of a root and with a yelp, he fell into the water. Marik froze as he hit the freezing water, but soon began panicking as he began to feel disoriented. He thrashed wildly, searching for some ground, and felt his lungs burning as he ran out of air to fuel his movements. Everything began to turn dark and unfocused. The cold reached out with a blackened hand, its nails digging into his skin. Suddenly, Marik was jerked forcefully against the flow of the current and gasped as he was pulled roughly from the water. He coughed and sputtered, floundering until he was shoved on solid ground. Marik coughed, gasping lungfuls of air and hacking the bitter-tasting water from his throat. After regaining his breath, he slumped on his side only to be tugged back up again.

"Get up." Akefia growled. "We're not there yet." Marik groaned mentally and urged his pained limbs upright as he pushed himself to his feet. Dripping wet but thankful for the still-present heat of the desert, he followed Akefia through thickets and bushes along a barely-discernable path. He stumbled and tripped countless times as the darkness began to set, unable to place his feet where he was going. Many times he thought he'd lost the thief but would manage to spot his gleaming white hair ahead of him and hurry towards him. Finally, after an ostensibly endless amount of seemingly aimless floundering, Akefia made a sharp left and was swallowed up by a huge black hole in the mountain. Marik froze and looked hesitantly before him.

"What are you waiting for, hurry up?" He heard Akefia hiss from inside. Marik slowly made his way in to the darkness, groping around blindly in front of him until his hands touched a soft fabric. He flinched but then grabbed the fabric and pulled it aside. He was immediately greeted by a soft light coming from the center of what seemed to be a large cavern where Akefia was crouched, adding tinder and twigs to a small fire. Marik entered cautiously, looking around in astonishment. The establishment was a real cave of wonders, filled with strange and foreign looking objects of various value and use. Intricate, thickly woven carpets and furs lined the floor, and gold plates, pearls, and silver objects of unknown use lay at various corners of the room. Several gold and silver lined swords and daggers were bound together by a thick golden rope and shoved to the right, glistening under the flickering firelight. Marik noticed a moderately-sized hole to the right of the cavern's ceiling, likely the result of past water, lime, and wind erosion, which allowed for the fire's smoke to disperse and a fresh breeze to enter. Akefia leaned back against the wall of the cavern, breathing heavily. He cracked open one eye and observed Marik silently.

"Take off your tunic." He ordered between breaths. Marik blinked, confused and clearly taken aback.

"What…?"

"You're getting water all over my carpets. And if you keep standing like that in wet clothes, you'll get hypothermia and die. As a dead hostage, you're basically useless."

Marik hesitated. He didn't feel comfortable enough revealing his tattoos in front of the white-haired thief, but he knew he had no choice and obediently striped off his tunic, leaving him in a pair of white shorts. He placed the tunic near the fire to dry it off and removed Akefia's shoes from his feet, placing them beside the shirt. He sat beside the fire, inspected his blister-covered soles with a grimace.

Akefia drew a small rough-leather gourd from his pile of treasures, popped off the cork and began gulping down the cool liquid. He suddenly choked and spewed some water from his mouth, coughing and cursing. After recovering, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and offered the gourd to Marik, who gratefully accepted it and drank down a good portion before handing it back with a satisfied sigh. Marik busied himself by combing a hand through his messy, half-dried, sand-clotted hair. If his sister saw him now, she surely would have thrown a fit. The memory of his sister didn't improve his mood. He regretted not having been able to check on her. Akefia had assured him that she'd only been stunned, but could he trust such a man? After all, if Marik had… killed his own father, he could easily have done the same to his sister. Marik shuddered and tried to chase the ideas from his head.

He suddenly heard a clatter and turned to see Akefia shoveling through a leather bag, pulling out white cloth bandages and a large, silver knife. The blade of the knife gleamed eerily against the firelight, stirring unpleasant memories. Marik shuddered and peeled his eyes away from it to watch Akefia as he placed the blade of the knife into the fire's coals and began awkwardly shrugging out of his red robe, gritting his teeth against the pain.

Akefia fumbled clumsily at the cloth strips tied around his waist, cursing inwardly as his pain-blurred sight lapsed in and out of focus. He suddenly froze as something moved in front of him and a small, olive-toned hand reached out to untie the strips and pull them away. Akefia looked up to see a pair of downcast amethyst eyes which shyly returned his gaze before flicking back down to his wound.

"What are you doing?" Akefia growled. Marik flinched but stayed put.

"You saved me." He mumbled, "I want to return the favor." Akefia let out a weak snort of derision.

"I told you. You're no use to me dead. Of course I would save you." Marik didn't reply but instead gently pulled the bloody strips away from Akefia's skin. Marik's stomach somersaulted at the sight of the blood-crusted wound, still clogged by the imbedded arrowhead. Akefia grimaced.

"This is going to have to be done quickly. You sure you're up to this, kid?" Marik swallowed and nodded, his eyes glued to the wound. Akefia sighed and pushed himself more upright against the wall with a grunt.

"First, I need you to get some water boiling. There's water in that gourd, pour it into that silver pan and set it on the fire." Marik did as he was told, grabbing a small silver pan from the pile of valuable-looking objects by its handle and filling it half way with water from a leather-skin gourd. He then placed the pan in the center of the small fire on a bed of coals and logs. Marik turned expectantly towards Akefia, who lay, breathing heavily, against the wall.

"Good." The thief commended. He weakly rummaged through his pile of treasures and pulled out a large pouch tied with a piece of worn rope. He tossed it to Marik, who grasped it in midair, surprised by the pouch's weight and its contents' granule, sand-like texture. "Now put a handful of this in the water." Akefia finished.

"What is it?" Marik asked, picking at the knot of the rope.

"Salt. It helps disinfect the tools and wound." Marik blinked, not entirely comprehending, but opened the bag regardless, reached in, and pulled out a small handful of the tiny white crystals. He dumped it in the pan and closed the pouch back up, setting it back with the thief's other belongings.

Looking back, Marik saw Akefia lightly dozing against the wall, the flickering light of the fire dancing across his face, locked in a battle against slivers of shadow which jumped from beneath his eyes to his cheeks and lips. The white-haired man's face was an unhealthy pale pallor, even by warm light of the fire, his lips were dry and cracked and his body expunging sweat and water from his body

Marik then looked around and spotted the leather bag beside the thief. He hopped over to the bag, grabbed it, and began rummaging through. Small knives, packets of odorless herbs, silver instruments in strange shapes, rolls of white cloth bandages, and various other tools and objects of likely medical use. Marik glanced up at Akefia and saw the thief watching him closely with one eye open. He quickly looked down again and found what he was looking for – a medium sized, relatively clean looking white rag. He folded the rag in four and poured some of the cool water from the leather gourd onto it, lightly soaking the rag. Marik crawled towards Akefia who regarded him dubiously. As he lifted the towel, Akefia snatched his wrist tightly and glared at him darkly.

"What are you doing?" he growled menacingly. Marik almost dropped the towel but managed to keep his grip on it. He swallowed, burning under the angry glare of the dangerous thief, knowing all too well what he was capable of.

"I…" he started timidly, "I just wanted to cool you off. It's what my brother did when I… when I was sick from the Initiation." Marik said.

"Your brother?" Akefia repeated, cocking an eyebrow. Marik nodded, fighting back tears.

"He wasn't really my brother… but he was, you know?" He said quietly. Akefia sighed and released his grip on Marik's frail wrist.

"No, I have no damn clue what you're talking about, but if you're going to do something, get on with it." Marik rubbed his wrist and nodded.

He raised his hand and gently dabbed at Akefia's sweat-laced chest. With soft, even movements, he cleaned the thief's body little by little until Akefia had lapsed into a half conscious state of rough breathing and relaxed acceptance of Marik's movements. His eyes fluttered open temporarily when Marik began dabbing at Akefia's brow and cheeks, but closed again and let him be. Marik inspected the bloodied gash on his arm. It wasn't deep, and the wound had stopped bleeding, but it was crusted with blood and easily liable to be infected. Marik cleaned the rag again and lightly dabbed the wound, which Akefia responded to with several winces, but made no move to remove his arm. Marik managed to find some clean bandages in the leather pack and wrapped them firmly around the wound. After having finished, Marik cleaned off the rag and sat against the wall beside the thief. He bent his knees and hugged them to his chest, setting his chin on his knees and idly watching the pan of water from half-opened eyes.

After a few minutes, Marik shuffled back to the pan and, upon seeing it steaming and bubbling above the fire, reached out and lightly touched Akefia on the shoulder. Akefia's eyes snapped open and he flinched against Marik's touch.

"Um, the water's boiling." Marik said quietly, his hand retreating. Akefia nodded wordlessly with a heavy breath and began shifting in his spot.

"Remove the pan from the water." He responded with a horse voice. Marik turned back towards the fire and carefully removed the pan, setting it between Akefia and the fire.

Marik turned his gaze towards Akefia and his eyes widened as he saw him pull out a long dagger from a slender, curved, camel-bone sheath inlaid with intricate silver designs. In any other situation, Marik would have admired the weapon, but at this point he could only gape as Akefia held the knife out towards him, looked at the younger Egyptian with weary eyes.

"Now I need you… to cut it out." Akefia said, his hand trembling slightly. Marik swallowed and stared blankly at him.

"Cut…? Cut what out?" he whimpered. The simple prospect of using a knife sent butterflies squirming in his stomach again.

"The arrow, obviously." Akefia snapped. "It's lodged in a bone, and if we tried tugging it out, there's a possibility the head would stay in, which is going to infect the wound." Marik hesitantly accepted the knife from Akefia, who in turn grabbed another clean rag and weakly tossed it to him.

"Soak the rag in water and let the knife sit in the boiling pan." Marik did as instructed, letting the rag soak almost all the way in before pulling it out and letting it cool before wringing it out into the pan slightly and placing the knife blade-first into the boiling water. He turned to Akefia and gave him the wet rag, and the thief accepted it and began dabbing at the wound, hissing as he lightly nudged the arrow on accident. Marik watched him wordlessly, admiring the practiced movements of the white-haired man. After a few minutes had gone by and Akefia had successfully managed to clean up most of the caked blood near the wound with Marik's help, he instructed Marik to pull out the knife from the boiling water. Akefia himself held a small instrument, a long metal rod that curved sharply at the end into a flat hook, which had also been placed in the salinated water for a little while. Marik nervously but firmly held the disinfected knife by the handle and looked up at Akefia for instructions.

"Alright," the thief began, his voice straining more and more, "we're going to remove the arrow. At this point, it's lodged pretty far in, so you're likely going to have to cut through some skin and reach in with this –" he gestured with the curved instrument "– and pull it out gently. Don't go too fast. You get it?" Marik nodded, about as unsure as he'd ever been, and adjusted his grip on the knife. He accepted the curved instrument with his other hand and set it inside the pan of boiling water. Akefia pulled a large, thick cotton cloth from his bag and clenched it in his hand, leaning back and trying to settle his breathing. Marik swallowed and raised the knife.

...


	10. Chapter 10: Scars

**.:Author's Note:.** Sorry for the delay. I had a lot of tests these past few weeks. After my AP exams in a few weeks, I should have a lot more time to type.

I apologize for the shortness of this chapter. Personally I feel like I should have combined this chapter and the last, and I think I might later on, but the next chapter is going to be longer, I promise.

Enjoy! And please review!

-DxH

Discalimer: I do not own the rights to Yugioh. If I did, Marik and Bakura would be butt-buddies.

...

Marik gripped the end of the arrow tightly but gently as so not to discomfort the pained thief. He looked down at the sore, reddened would with a grimace, nausea clawing reproachfully at his stomach. He ignored the sickness and slid the knife along the arrow. As it descended and began to pierce Akefia's flesh, the thief let out a pained hiss, throwing back his head and gritting his teeth. Marik cringed but kept his hand steady, widening the hole as to dislodge the arrow. After breaking a fair amount of skin around it, Marik mopped up some of the drizzling blood, fighting back the urge to vomit at its sight and picked up the small instrument beside him. He slid the instrument into the wound along the arrow and pried at the muscle and what he assumed to be bone, gently tugging at the end of the arrow all the while. Akefia grunted and his chest rose and fell quickly and irregularly with his gasps.

Marik dug deeper with the instrument and suddenly his hand slipped and the instrument jerked up in his grasp. Akefia muffled a yelp, digging his nails into the ground. Marik grappled with the instrument in his sweaty palms, and abruptly felt the arrow loosening. He gently pulled it, using the curved instrument to guide it out, and finally pulled the blood-stained arrow from Akefia's body.

Marik immediately collapsed on his rear and released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Akefia let out a shuddering gasp before resting against the wall and loosening his tensed muscles, but not before applying the cotton cloth to his wound and pressing it down as firmly as he could manage.

"Is… is it all out?" The thief gasped between breaths. Marik nodded wordlessly, his mind still reeling and his throat too dry to properly answer. He dropped the arrow beside the fire, not daring to look at the blood-covered instrument. Akefia let his head slump against the wall and sighed deeply before looking back down at Marik.

"We're not done yet." He said gruffly. Marik released a groan and sat up. Akefia shifted his hand to better cover the wound and gestured with his other hand towards the knife in the fire.

"I don't have the energy or materials to sew the wound, so we're going to have to make do with more primitive sealing." Marik's heart sank as his eyes locked onto the blade shoved deep into the gleaming coals of the fire up to the hilt. Akefia's mouth twitched into a small smirk as he observed Marik's reaction.

"Don't pussy out on me now, kid." He said. Marik swallowed and reached for the knife. As his fingers touched the hilt, he released a yelp and snapped his hand away. He shoved his burned fingers into his mouth and suckled on them voraciously, glaring reproachfully at the knife. Akefia chuckled humorously.

"Use a cloth, idiot." He lightly berated the Egyptian. Marik looked at him dubiously before snatching the cloth he had previously wet and used it to grasp the handle of the knife. He gently pulled it from the bed of coals, careful not to let any fall near him. Marik lifted the blade near his face, marveling at the hot, red-orange core surrounded by white. A sudden image rose to his mind, dark and sinister, of a veiled man approaching him from behind, a shimmering, red-hot blade in one hand. He shuddered and looked away.

"Quickly." Akefia insisted. He dabbed a few more times at his wound and discarded the bloodied cloth, revealing the red-rimmed wound. Marik noticed that it seemed smaller then when the arrow had been lodged in it, likely because the arrow made the wound look bigger. Marik placed a hand on either side and stretched his skin slightly so the wound closed.

"You have to do this in one go. Place the blade flat on the wound and press it down hard until I tell you." Marik nodded and shuffled awkwardly towards Akefia on his knees. He crouched at Akefia's right, lifted the knife, and, in one motion, pressed it down on the wound. The wound sizzled and hissed, and Akefia's body tensed up immediately. His nails dug into his own chest, his muscles tightened, his eyes squeezed shut, and a muffled yell came out as a cross between a yelp and a hiss. Marik wrinkled his nose and resisted the urge to cough and puke as the scent of burning flesh, accompanied by a small wisp of black smoke, wafted up his nose. The bright orange of the blade started to fade into a steely gray as the heat from the blade was transferred to Akefia's flesh. After a few minutes, Akefia gestured weakly and Marik gently pulled the blade away. The wound had closed, but not aesthetically in any way. A large, welting scar the color of rotten meat and bricks lined the side of his stomach. Marik swallowed back some bitter bile which had risen to the back of his throat. Akefia resumed panting and breathing, his eyes half open and flitting in and out of focus.

The two runaways sat beside each other, recovering from the psychological and physical trauma of the wound. Nothing stirred the room except for the sound of Akefia's wheezing breath and the crackling of the fire.

Akefia finally opened his eyes, blinking to clear his vision, and looked down at his scarred wound. He sniffed and observed it with clear distaste but seemed satisfied by the job. Akefia slumped back against the wall, evening out his breathing. Marik dug around and found the leather gourd, passing it to the thief who accepted it graciously and drank down several gulps. Marik finished the last few mouthfuls and placed the gourd back near the pile of other goods.

Akefia grabbed the fresh bandages and began trying to wrap them around his still sensitive wound, but Marik grabbed them from his trembling hands before the thief could berate him. Marik wordlessly wrapped Akefia's wound firmly, his hands as steady as he could manage.

Akefia suddenly started laughing.

Marik looked up at him, startled. Akefia threw back his head, leaning it against the cool

wall, his eyes closed and his lips parted in a strangely eerie laugh. Marik shivered and tied the bandages tightly as Akefia suddenly began to fall into a fit of coughing. He cursed and spat ungraciously, and resumed a small chuckle behind closed lips. Akefia cracked open and eye and regarded Marik with some amusement.

"You're really something, kid." He said, shaking his head. "I assault your family, kidnap you, and shove you in a completely dangerous situation, and then while I'm lying here dying, instead of using the opportunity to run away, here you are, merry as a sheep, wrapping up my wounds." Akefia burst into another fit of laugher which echoed through the cavern. Marik shrunk away slightly, intimidated and confused by the thief's reaction.

"Well you said that if I tried to run away, you would kill me." Marik said quietly after Akefia had calmed down a bit. The thief's mouth curved into a leering grin.

"My aim's not so good that I could stop a little thing like you in my current state if you decided to zip out of here, you know." Marik frowned.

"Were you supposed to tell me that?" Akefia's grin grew wider.

"I suppose not."

Marik sighed. "It's not like I could go back if I wanted to." He said, averting his eyes. " I doubt they would want a murderer as a tomb-keeper." Akefia raised an eyebrow.

"Well if they were sending soldiers to retrieve you, I doubt they've decided to abandon you." Marik shrugged. He didn't want to think of such things right now. The very memory of his father's lifeless, crumpled corpse beneath him send shudders down his spine and nausea through his stomach. He turned away and began stuffing the instruments and rags which had spilled out back into the leather bag. He placed the hot blade, now reduced to its original silver sheen, into the pan of cooled water. It sizzled slightly, releasing a small stream of white steam from the water. Marik was about to pull it out when he suddenly felt something cold touch his back. He squeaked, releasing the knife, which dropped with a clatter, and instinctively arched his back against the touch.

"These are no ordinary scars, are they?" Akefia murmured, running his finger along the various symbols etched on Marik's back. Marik trembled against the thief's cold touch.

"N… no." He stuttered. He heard Akefia chuckle lightly, and the cold touch retreated. Marik released his breath and quickly shoved the knife in the bag, tied it with the piece of rope and scrambled to the side.

"Hey, there's no need to be so afraid. I have no plans on eating you as long as you cooperate." Akefia said lowly. Marik glanced at the thief, who eyed him under half-closed lids. He scuttled to sit next to him, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"I'm not afraid." He mumbled indignantly. Akefia snorted but said nothing. Suddenly, Marik's stomach growled loudly. Marik immediately clamped a hand on his stomach, looking down embarrassingly. Akefia grinned. He pushed himself upright with a grunt and shoveled under some furs, pulling out another leather bag, less ornate this time, and pulled the rope off.

"Here, show me your hands." He said as he dug through the bag. Marik stretched out his hands, cupping them together and Akefia dumped a mixed handful of dried fruits, nuts, dates, and vegetables. He then pulled out another bag and handed Marik a thin slab of dark red dried camel meat. Marik's stomach growled and he immediately began stuffing the dried rations into his mouth. Akefia regarded the child, amused, before tearing at a strip of the meat himself.

"I would usually cook but considering my current state, and since you don't seem the type to know how to cook, what with your sheltered upbringing…" He said around his meat. Marik glanced up at him but didn't stop chewing. Akefia shook his head, smiling behind another handful of the dried mix.

After the two had filled up, Akefia awkwardly attempted to arrange the furs on the ground into a suitable sleeping bed. After watching Akefia wrestle one-handed against the furs, he decided to help and managed to drag a thick, double-sided fur on a pile of a few large, soft wool skins. Marik wondered to himself if Akefia had stolen the furs or skinned them himself, but was quickly distracted when the thief dumped the pan of water on the fire. A loud hiss echoed through the cave which was suddenly drowned in darkness. After a few minutes, Marik's eyes adjusted to the dark and from the dim light from the hole in the cave's wall, he managed to see in blocks and shadows what lay around him. Marik looked around and suddenly shivered as a cool breeze wrapped around his bare skin.

"What are you doing just sitting there. Get under the quilt before you catch a cold. The last thing I need is having to take care of your sick ass in my condition." He heard Akefia growl from his left. Marik flipped around and groped his way towards the makeshift bed, pulling up the fur blanket and crawling beneath it. Marik was pleased by the sudden, heavy warmth and snuggled deeper until he felt his leg hit something. Akefia hissed angrily, causing Marik to wince and his foot to retreat.

"Watch it." Akefia growled. Marik nodded, forgetting the thief couldn't see him, and flipped over so that his back faced Akefia. In the quiet darkness, the sounds around him were suddenly amplified; the cicadas chirping outside, the river bubbling downstream, the wind whispering through the leaves of the trees, Akefia's ragged breath. Marik closed his eyes and wandered into the much needed embrace of sleep.

...


	11. Chapter 11: Duality

**.:Author's Note:.** New chapter~! It's a bit daunting how few reviews I get on this story despite all the effort put into it. I'm not even really into the YGO franchise anymore, but I'm still writing this because I want to finish it and I'm sure the few readers I have would greatly appreciate it.

-DxH

_Discalimer: I do not own the rights to Yugioh_.

...

One step before the other, Marik dragged his body through the sun-beaten gorges. How much time had passed since the morning? His mouth was dry as parchment, his body as heavy as lead, and his eyesight constantly blurred. He could hardly feel the soles of his feet, numb against the touch of the stone as they pounded through the canyon at a steady pace. Akefia, despite his injury, showed no sign of faltering. Every so often, the thief would spare a glance over his shoulder at Marik to make sure he was still there, before pressing on. Marik heard his stomach gurgle and readjusted the pack's strap on his shoulder.

Earlier that morning, the boy was jerked awake by an ungainly kick from the thief, who ordered him to get up. As he groggily rubbed his eyes awake, Marik noticed all the gold and trinkets from the night before seemed to have vanished, replaced by three leather side packs. The thief was wearing his cloak and shoes, and any hint of last night's discomfort was no longer present, except for in his occasional stiff movements when he was required to bend over. Akefia threw him a handful of dates and allowed the boy a few meager mouthfuls of water before wordlessly dropping one of the packs into Marik's hands and slinging the other two over his own shoulders.

"Let's get moving. The guards will be on our trail soon." Marik glanced down at the pack, heavy with contents he only suspected at, and slipped the single strap over his shoulder and across his chest, following the thief as he padded out of the shelter of the cave. Blinking at the glare of the sun, Marik looked around, marveling at the wide expanse of green palms and laurel bushes, and the blue bubbling of the nearby river, against the burgundy red of the canyon's walls. The thief had immediately launched them on a trek through the wild, on an invisible trail seemingly visible only to Akefia himself, who staunchly advanced with determined eyes glued in front of him. He would occasionally halt and look up, likely to observe his surroundings and find his bearings, or, unbeknownst to Marik, to allow the sheltered tombkeeper a quick rest.

Thus, the two plodded on under Ra's insufferable gaze, which beat mercilessly down upon them both. Finally, as Marik felt as if he could go no further, he nearly ran into the thief who briskly turned on his heel and stepped off his imaginary trail and sat on a small boulder in the shade of the canyon, dropping his packs at his feet. Marik gratefully pulled off his pack and slumped on the ground, laying on his back with no regard for the dirt or insects crawling through the cracks of the earth.

The young boy gasped in lungfuls of air, his head dizzy with exhaustion. The thief smirked, pulling out a gourd and swallowing a mouthful of water. Marik glared at him enviously through half-lidded eyes, licking his parched lips eagerly.

"You really are a sheltered brat, aren't you," the thief sneered, swirling the gourd around with a hand. The water sloshed around inside, earning a pleading growl from the prone boy. Akefia tossed him the gourd, and he greedily brought it to his lips and drained it in seconds. With a satisfied sigh, Marik wiped his mouth and handed the gourd back to Akefia, who took it wordlessly and dropped it back in one of his packs.

"I'm just not used to this kind of life," Marik finally said. The thief's lips twitched as he pulled out some dates, half a loaf of flatbread, and a few slabs of dried camel meat.

"Doesn't surprise me. I bet you've never done a single day's worth of hard labor." Marik frowned, but his attention was diverted when Akefia divided the rations out between the two. The ivory-haired man watched with keen amusement as the boy wolfed the food down.

"Slow down, kid. You'll give yourself a stomach ache and everything will heave out before you can take a step more." Marik growled, but heeded Akefia's warning and slowly chewed every mouthful before swallowing.

"I was never allowed outside." Marik finally said around a date. "I was fragile as a child, since I was premature. My mother…" he paused, wondering why he was telling this all to a stranger, "my mother died when I was born. My father forced me to study all day and didn't let me leave the tomb. He said it was for my own safety, but I'm sure it was because he was afraid that if I left, I wouldn't want to come back."

"And was he right?" The thief asked, eyes keenly focused on the boy.

"…I guess," Marik said in a strained voice. "It's… it's not like I could return if I wanted to."

"Mmmm isn't that true," Akefia murmured. Marik suddenly lost his appetite, but swallowed the last few dates and crackers, knowing that it would be a while before Akefia would allow him another rest. Besides, despite the thief's relaxed position, Marik could see the exhaustion showing through.

Akefia's chest heaved in slow, uneven breaths, and dark rims under his eyes proved that he hadn't slept much last night. The sweat lining his chest, the wince as he sat down, nothing went by unnoticed. The thief was tired and in pain, even if he wouldn't show it. Marik was tempted to mention it, but he knew it wasn't a good idea. He'd managed to get on Akefia's good side, even if only for a minute, and he didn't want to ruin it.

"Do you usually walk this much?" he asked instead. The thief finished his rations without looking up.

"Sometimes. I usually have my horse though." Marik opened his eyes wide.

"You ride?"

"Sure."

"Well then," he mused, "why don't you have your horse with you?" The thief cocked an eyebrow.

"Do you really expect a horse to be able to scale this path?" Marik looked down, realizing what a ridiculous proposition he'd made. Akefia sighed and stretched his arms over his head with a groan. The welts and bruises lining his flesh had begun to heal, but were still prominent beneath the light of the sun.

"A mule could probably make it," Akefia continued, "or a mountain goat, though you can't ride those." Marik blinked.

"Then couldn't you… I don't know… rent a mule or something." The thief stared at him for a few minutes before he burst out laughing. Marik stiffened, surprised at the sudden outburst. It seemed that the thief would always shock him every time he laughed. However, he was relieved to realize that there was no trace of bitterness or hostility in the man's laugh, if for a little ridicule. The thief promptly shuffled through his robes and before Marik could move, threw the small dagger at his feet, staring at the boy expectantly, a small grin touching his lips.

"If you want a mule, I suggest you take that dagger, find the nearest resident of the canyon, slit his throat, and take his ride. Otherwise, there's no way you'll get a mule here." Marik felt all the blood drain from his face at the sight of the dagger at his feet, which earned another chuckle from the thief. Akefia stood upright, sweeping up the dagger and placing it back beneath his coat.

"Alright. Enough time has been wasted." The young man's face hardened and his voice returned to a rough, ordering tone. "Let's move. I want to get to the camp before the sun sets. Once it's dark, I'll be the least of your worries." Marik swallowed, wondering what kinds of dangers lurked in the desert at night. He looked at his bag with distaste, and reluctantly brought it back over his shoulders.

Akefia stood ready, both bags already fitted over his shoulders and on his back, and looked expectantly at Marik, who inspected his feet. The boy was relieved to see no more than some chaffed skin and bruising, and hurried behind the thief as he began to walk along the trail.

The two trekked through the day, stopping every few hours to breath and take a sip of water. Marik noticed that Akefia's pace was slowing, and he was having more and more trouble breathing, but said nothing for fear of upsetting the proud thief. As they joined the river at the base of the Canyon, Marik cooled his feet by wading through shallow, ankle-high water, careful not to venture in too deep. However, the boy found the sharp, uneven rocks to pose quite a beating to his sore feet, and quickly rejoined the thief on higher ground.

Finally, as the sun began to climb behind the canyon, Akefia began to lead them closer towards the canyon walls. Winding through bushes and grasses stubborn enough to grow through the sand and rocks, the two made their way further into the dark shadows. Marik winced as he slipped on a sharp rock, hopping forward to catch up with the unrelenting thief. Finally, they reached the edge of the canyon – a steep wall of dark, red-orange earth and clay. Akefia stopped in a small clearing of smooth rock, where he dumped his packs down and untied them.

"We're settling here for the night," Akefia growled. Marik started and obediently lifted the pack off his back, setting it gently on the floor with a grateful sigh. Akefia began unpacking, only pulling out their necessities – a few thick covers, some rations, and the bag filled with bandages and other healing necessities. Marik stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do when the thief looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

"Make yourself useful and fetch some dry wood." Marik nodded and padded away, squinting at the ground in what slowly receding light remained. He forged around, back bent, picking up stray sticks and twigs. There were few large sticks apart from the occasional piece of driftwood, which was usually still damp. When he had finally gathered as much as he could carry, Marik straightened, looking around. Marik suddenly realized he had strayed too far from the campsite and began to panic. He whipped around, searching for a familiar landmark, or even a wisp of the thief's ivory hair. But everything was the same each way he turned. Bushes and rock. The bubbling of the stream nearby and the chirping of the cicadas, accompanied by the occasional hoot of an owl were the only disturbances of the darkness.

Heart pounding, Marik took a few tentative steps forward, until he heard a rustle. Whipping his head to his left, he tried to trace the source of the noise, but his paranoia caused every other sense to pique as well, disorienting the lost boy. He heard the rustle again, followed by a light scuttling sound.

"Akefia?" He asked tentatively, taking a few steps back. Marik's eyes darted back and forth, searching around him for signs of something or someone. The scuttling sounded again, closer this time. He jerked his face around, and saw it; a black scorpion, about the size of his hand, scuttled less than three feet away from him, stinger raised aggressively behind it. Marik yelped and stumbled back, dropping the firewood. His heel caught against a rock and he fell back, tunic snagging on a branch. The scorpion crawled forward, snapping its claws as the boy in warning. Marik froze, whimpering and drawing his feet in as close to his body as possible. Suddenly, he heard something wiz by his head and the scorpion froze, pinned to the spot by a thin dagger. Marik almost screamed when something emerged from the bushes beside him, but was thankful he didn't when the white-haired thief appeared beside him, a peeved expression on his face.

Akefia grabbed his dagger, flicking the corpse of the creature away and wiped the blood off the blade before turning to the trembling tombkeeper.

"I leave you alone for two minutes and you already manage to get yourself in trouble." Marik averted his gaze, wincing at the criticizing tone of the thief. He heard Akefia sigh heavily and slip the dagger back into his coat.

"All right, enough. Let's go. At least you managed to find some wood." Marik pushed himself upright and helped gather the spilt firewood, bringing it back to the makeshift campsite. He helped Akefia set up their bed, laying out a tougher leather sheet to shield them from the harsh cold of the ground, and setting the thicker sheep's wool blanket and fur quilt on top of it.

As Marik stroked a hungry fire and fed it dry bark and bits of driftwood, Akefia skillfully skinned a small rodent of some kind and plucked the feathers off an animal that could have passed for an obese sparrow. Both animals had mysteriously appeared at the campsite when Marik returned from the wood-gathering incident. The boy wanted to ask, but held his tongue for fear of upsetting the thief. He reasoned that it was more than likely the man had killed them himself, and honestly, Marik wasn't all that surprised. Once the animals were skinned, Akefia pinned them to two medium-sized sticks and roasted the meat in the fire. The scent of burning feathers and fur that had remained released a sickening odor, but before long, Marik's mouth was watering at the scent of the grilled meat.

After the food was finished cooking, the two settled on the blankets and Akefia shared out their portions, offering the rodent to Marik and settling on the small bird for himself. Though the meat was hard and gritty, and there was barely enough for a half-dozen mouthfuls, Marik eagerly cleaned off the animal's flesh, nibbling the small bones clean. Akefia did likewise, even going so far as to eat some of the bird's smaller bones. Every crack and crunch from the thief's mouth caused Marik to flinch unconsciously.

After they finished the food, they shared some dried fruits for dessert, and Akefia rustled the fire until it settled down into glowing coals. At this time, the night had completely settled. Cicadas and owls sang into the night air, accompanying the gentle symphony of the flowing river.

Marik glanced up and gasped.

"Akefia, look!" he whispered, pointing at the skies with wide, round eyes. In the wide expanse of darkness above him, billions of tiny white lights glittered as if painted in. A thick veil of milky white stars swept across the sky. Akefia rolled his eyes at the boy's fascinated expression.

"It's just the sky. Go to sleep," he motioned towards the makeshift bed. Marik nodded and slipped into the blankets, laying on his back to stare up at the stars. He decided to count them, and within minutes had fallen asleep.

Akefia awoke in the middle of the night to the sounds of muffled whimpers. He blinked his eyes open, letting his pupils adjust to the darkness of the night. Choked sobs pierced the usual sounds of the night, and the thief narrowed his eyes as he felt Marik trembling beside him.

"Hey, kid, quiet down and go to sleep," he hissed. Marik flinched, but continued trembling. He released a hiccupping sigh, and suddenly went quiet. Akefia assumed the boy had fallen asleep, and nestled deeper into the covers, closing his eyes. A few seconds later, he felt the covers shift and Marik slipped out of bed, padding towards the gently gleaming remains of the fire. Akefia growled under his breath and sat up.

"Marik, we have a long journey tomorrow. Get back to sleep." The boy sat down by the fire, his back turned to the thief.

"I don't feel like it." Akefia's blood ran cold as the words left the boy's mouth. He recognized that unnatural, lifeless, and ice-cold tone.

"I see," he replied bitterly. Akefia slowly stood up and padded towards the fire, sitting across from the huddling boy. The light glow of the dimmed fire gave the boy's face a warm glow, barely bright enough to recognize his features. But those deep, unfazed eyes, staring detachedly into the coals, were unmistakable.

"So," Akefia began, "it's you." A small smile touched the tombkeeper's lips.

"Yes, it's me." The thief stared at the boy.

"Who are you, exactly," he asked cautiously. Marik's gaze wandered up and rested on the thief.

"I'm Marik." Akefia snorted.

"No you're not. Marik is a clumsy, naïve child. You," he narrowed his eyes, "you are a merciless killer." The boy smiled in amusement.

"Really? And who's to say 'Marik' isn't both?" The tombkeeper spread his arms. "I am Marik. A part of him. I was created by him as an escape for the pain, the misery and loneliness of his life. I am all his hatred, all his anger and fear and everything he kept bottled away and hidden from his father." Akefia listened to this in quiet contemplation. Marik paused, and nudged at the coals with a small stick, sending a flicker of light over his calm features.

"I am what Marik fears the most – everything he has pushed away from himself. All his jealousy, contempt, anger. Every sin and dark thought he has had feeds me. And one day, I will own this body." Akefia narrowed his eyes.

"But his father is gone now, he is free. He doesn't have anything more to hate." A steady chuckle bubbled from the boy's throat, sending goosebumps across the white-haired man's body. He shifted uncomfortably, eyeing the boy, who fingered a lock of unruly dark-blond hair.

"Do you really think that just because he left the tomb, this boy will live happily ever after?" He smiled crookedly at Akefia. "Already this boy is tumbling in sorrow and regret over his actions. Like you said, he's a naïve, childish boy. Just a child," Marik's eyes gleamed ominously, "a child with blood on his hands, who committed the ultimate crime of killing his own father." Akefia returned Marik's dark gaze, until the boy broke it off, flicking his attention back to the dying coals.

"Besides, he's free, yes. But he is free in a wild, unknown land filled with dangers and threats he could never survive alone. And the tomb will not stop searching for him. His brother will never stop searching for him." Akefia stayed silent.

"Or," continued the tombkeeper, "will you take him in?" The thief jerked his head up, narrowing his eyes. The boy smiled cruelly. "Will you take Marik with you? Teach him how to become a thief? How to survive? Or will you shelter him like a fragile flower, just as he had always been raised." Akefia growled.

"I'm merely using him as a hostage right now. I have no desire to get caught by the tomb. Besides, he has connections to the Sennen items, and I need to find the others. The boy will help me. Then, he'll be on his own." Marik grinned and his face melted into false-sorrow.

"How cruel," he mocked, "abandoning an innocent child to the elements!" Akefia snorted.

"Like you said, if you're around, that child is more than capable of handling himself." The boy's features returned to a placid state.

"Indeed," he said quietly. "As the boy's negative emotions grow stronger, so do I. I may perhaps manage to completely overtake this body, one day." He grinned up at the thief, his eyes too dark and sinister to reflect the gesture.

"I wonder if you'll truly accept Marik if that happens." Akefia narrowed his eyes.

"As cold and cruel as you are?" Marik's lips twitched, and for a moment, Akefia saw something else glisten in the boy's eyes – something besides a cold, cruel, hardness.

"Yes," he repeated softly, "as cold and cruel as I." The two remained silent for a few more minutes, listening to the song of the night.

"Well," Marik finally said, standing up, "I would say it's about time to sleep, no? Fear not, the whole time I've been awake, Marik has been sleeping. He should be fine tomorrow morning." Akefia grunted and followed the boy to the bed.

"By the way," Akefia said as they settled into the covers, "I don't want to call you Marik. It's too confusing when you're so entirely different." He heard the boy chuckle beside him.

"Alright then, what would you like to call me?" He asked playfully. The thief pondered for a moment.

"Malik. I'll call you Malik. It seems relatively appropriate." A short hush fell between them.

"Malik…" the young tombkeeper smiled, "Ruler of the body and mind. I rather like it." Akefia snorted.

"Of course you would," he noted, but only the gentle, even breaths of the sleeping boy replied. Akefia burrowed beneath the blankets.

"Wonderful," he thought irritably, "now I have two brats to deal with."

...

**.:Author's Note:. **So, a few updates about the story.

This story has now been separated into three parts. The next chapter will be uploaded in about two weeks time and mark the end of part one. Part two should be relatively short, and part three will be marked by the time lapse (and so will likely have the most slash romance, though there should be some fluff in part two). Don't worry, Part two and three will be uploaded as part of the same story, not separately (unless you feel I should separate the parts into several fics...?).

So please stay with me! I know the romance is slow to come, but I prefer a realistic to rushed storyline.

Please take the time to give me some feedback, even if it's a sentence or two. Thank you so much to **Sun-Flavour** for the detailed review (I wasn't able to respond personally because FF was being weird)! Those always make me smile!

-DxH


	12. Chapter 12: Finality

**.:Author's Note:. **This is the final update for part one before I leave for Thailand. You won't see an update for another month since I'll be gone, but I'll try to work quickly once I return. I apologize for the shortness, but I could find no way to lengthen it.

-DxH

_Discalimer: I do not own the rights to Yugioh_.

...

Upon waking up, Akefia found his eyes immediately and warily drawn to the sleeping figure of the boy beside him. He quietly rose and began packing up their belongings and scattering the ashes of the fire. He roughly nudged Marik with his foot and gruffly ordered him up. The boy grumbled but obediently pushed himself upright, rubbing his eyes groggily. Akefia's lip curled as he tried to associate the cruel, cold eyes of the boy from the night before to the half-asleep, ridiculously naïve child that blinked against the rays of the sun like a lazy feline.

"Are we leaving already?" Marik asked. Akefia grunted, tossing him the leather bag of dried fruits, nuts, and meat. Marik took a handful and noisily stuffed it in his mouth, chewing hungrily at the food.

"Is this all we have?" Marik grumbled. "Dried fruits and nuts aren't very filling." Akefia narrowed his eyes dangerously as he folded and stuffed the blankets into the packs.

"Feel lucky I'm even feeding you, you brat," he hissed, "we're lucky we even have food. I've lived off scavenged roots and berries for five weeks before, the only protein derived from the insects I would pick off the dying laurel twigs and palm branches." Marik blanched and hung his head apologetically. Akefia sniffed and threw a pack over his shoulders, throwing the smaller one to Marik.

"Come on, let's get moving before the sun gets too high up."

…

Later in the afternoon, as the sun passed over the side of the canyon and left them in cool shadows, Marik noticed several dark spots lining the opposite side of the canyon. He squinted, unable to make out the shapes. However, as they neared, Marik was astonished and excited to see a herd of goats, sturdy creatures with small horns and cloven hooves which scaled the canyon with surprising ease, followed by a figure draped in loose clothes and holding a tall staff.

Marik glanced at Akefia, wondering if they were supposed to make themselves hidden, but the man continued on, unfazed by the presence of the man.

"Akefia, who is that?" Marik asked. "Why is he following those goats? Is he hunting?"

"It's a shepherd. He owns the goats, and he's just letting them graze." Akefia replied curtly. Marik missed the irritation in his voice and continued, his fascination engulfing his reason.

"That's amazing! Those goats can survive here? They can walk around on the rocks so easily too! What do they eat up here?" Akefia grunted, and Marik quickly took it for a warning and shut his mouth, silently following the thief.

Finally, as the sky began to turn a darker blue, the two emerged from the grip of the rocks, and emerged onto a flat plain of desert, dotted only by occasional palm oasis and villages here and there. Marik groaned in relief as his feet sank into the soft sand instead of hard rock, but quickly retreated when he realized the sand wasn't quite cool yet. Akefia glanced at the sun, only a few feet from the horizon, and then back at the expanse of sand before him, as if debating whether or not to press forward. Finally, he kicked off his shoes and nudged them towards the young tombkeeper.

"Put these on. We're crossing the desert. It's getting cooler, so we'll have better luck doing this now than tomorrow, trust me. We just need to make it on time to avoid the scorpions and snakes." Marik stifled a groan of protest, slipped the shoes on, and followed Akefia into the desert.

It wasn't until the sun was almost entirely hidden below the horizon that Marik noticed they'd even made any progress. The distant oasis before them always seemed to retreat with every step they took, that Marik had begun to believe it was only a hallucination or an illusion of some kind. However, he could now clearly make out the shadows of a few palms against the fading light. After a few minutes Akefia stopped, pulling out a gourd of water, and took a short swig. He passed it to Marik.

"This is the last gourd of water, and we still have a little way to go, so don't drink too much." He said. Marik nodded and took a mouthful of water to moisten his mouth. As much as he desired more, he capped the gourd and handed it back to the thief.

Suddenly, Akefia's eyes snapped open, and before Marik could move, the thief whipped out his knife and flung it at him. Marik released a yelp, staggering back a few steps before stumbling on the ground. He stiffened as he heard a rustle in the sand next to him, and slowly turned his head. Less than a foot away from him wriggled a snake, its head pinned to the sand by Akefia's knife. Marik stared in horror as the snake's body writhed and squirmed, coiling over itself. The thief wordlessly stepped forward, grasping his knife with one hand and pulling the snake up by its neck with the other.

The sand-colored serpent's body twitched one last time before going still and hanging limply in the man's grasp. Akefia regarded the snake with distaste before flinging it into the sand, wiping a few drops of blood off his hand on his coat. Marik shakily rose to his feet, dusting off his tunic with trembling hands.

"This is the second time. Be more alert, kid." Akefia growled. "This kind of snake is poisonous." Marik nodded.

"Um… thanks." He said hoarsely, eyes glued to the ground. Now that the shock had worn off, he felt quite embarrassed to be thanking the thief so much. This was the second time he'd saved his life.

"I told you, you're no use to me dead," was the thief's curt reply. Marik didn't expect more, and so hurried closely behind Akefia as they ventured further into the desert.

Darkness had finally begun to settle in, and the first stars to rise from behind a deep blue veil, when Marik heard a distant thumping from across the desert. He snapped his head up, and realized that the thief was also looking ahead in cautious intent. Akefia stopped, eyes locked up ahead.

"Get behind me, and stay close." He growled, dropping his packs and unsheathing his dagger. Marik nodded and eased up behind the young man, glancing around him at an approaching disturbance at the horizon. Marik soon realized that the reverberating sound was that of several hoof beats. Horses. Marik swallowed, dread draining the color from his face.

Could it be the guards? Had they found them? But they were coming from the opposite direction of the tomb. Could word have been spread that quickly of their escape. As the figures drew nearer, Marik felt the icy hand of fear begin to claw at his chest. He unconsciously clutched Akefia's robe, drawing a quick glance from the thief but no more. Marik could count several riders, and knew that in a fight, they would be quickly outnumbered. Even Akefia, who had previously proved himself powerful even against several opponents, couldn't ward off the five riders rapidly approaching. The thief was exhausted, and still healing from the arrow wound. He was in no condition to fight.

Finally, the riders reached the pair, surrounding them immediately. Marik pressed closer to Akefia as the beasts pranced and snorted, regarding Marik with dark, restless eyes. The horses were unlike he'd ever seen, not large or intimidating, but graceful and lean, filled with the power of speed and endurance and an intelligence reflected beneath large, dark lashes. The riders were no less mysterious than their rides. Covered in dark robes and simple tunics and each armed with curved daggers and round-barreled pistols that glittered in the moonlight, they carried no similarity to the guards of the tomb. Their faces, hidden by dark hoods or the shadow of dusk, carried no familiarity, only sinister menace. One rider, wearing a long brown coat similar to Akefia's, nudged his horse closer to the boy and the thief.

"Identify yourself at once, before we cut you down where you stand." The man said in a gruff voice. Marik looked up at Akefia fearfully, only to see a small smile at his lips.

"Is that really any way to address your leader, Chigaru?" A murmur went up around the riders, and the man who'd addressed them dismounted, stepping forward.

"Akefia? Is it really you?" He asked tentatively? Akefia grinned.

"Yes you oaf, it's me." Marik looked up, completely befuddled, at the man in front of them. He had difficulty recognizing any features on the man due to the dark, but could detect a look that reflected a mixture of bewilderment, relief, and, perhaps, fear.

"I'm… sorry, my leader." He stuttered, bowing his head. "I didn't recognize you in the dark. And we hadn't heard from you in so long that we weren't expecting you… like this. I apologize."

"Keep your apologies to yourself, Chigaru. You know how much I resent them." The man straightened and, after a brief pause, grinned widely. Akefia held out his hand and they clasped arms.

"Good to see you back, Akefia. You look like you've been through better days though, if you don't mind my saying."

"Not at all." Akefia replied. Suddenly, a horse, larger than the rest, but just as elegant and poised, and jet black with a long, thick mane, snorted and whinnied, pacing forward towards the thief.

Akefia turned towards the mare and placed a gentle hand on her neck, patted her softly.

"Kanika. It's been a while." He whispered. The horse nudged his hand and nickered, shaking its mane. The man named Chigaru chuckled.

"She was acting up all day. I was wondering what was going on with her. Finally, Tsekani noticed you two while on lookout, so we decided to come check it out. I took her along, hoping she would quiet down after a ride, but she seemed more eager than us to get here. Almost left us in the dust."

"She was practically pulling you along, wasn't she." Another rider said, sending a round of chuckled across the ring of men. Chigaru frowned.

"Yafeu isn't that slow, yet." He said, patting his earth-coated horse loyally. "He's still full of youth and energy."

"Jealous of your horse, Chigaru?" Taunted another.

"Maybe you're the one getting slow." Added a brave one. Chigaru growled.

"Want to find out? We'll see whose head is lying severed on the ground at the end of the day, Zaliki." Another round of laughter echoed through the desert, and Marik noticed one of the riders, the one who had spoken last, squirm uncomfortably.

"Speaking of severed heads," Chigaru said, eyes locking on to Marik, "what do we have here?" Marik felt himself shrink against the back of the thief. The eyes were not aggressive, but wary and without warmth.

"For the moment, he's under my protection. The boy holds a use for me, and I intend to keep him alive for the time being." Marik swallowed, trying to ignore the last part of that sentence. Akefia's eyes narrowed and he regarded the rest of the men with menacing eyes.

"Thus," he said warningly, "I expect no harm to come towards Marik. Understand?" The men nodded in understanding, and Marik felt a heavy load come off his chest. At least now he knew he wasn't going to die any time soon.

Akefia mounted his horse, which neighed and pawed the ground impatiently. However, the thief gently tugged on the reins and beckoned Marik closer.

"Give me your hand." He said. Marik cautiously reached up, only to have himself jerked up and, suddenly, thrust into the thief's lap. He readjusted his body clumsily and found himself sitting at the base of the horse's neck, Akefia's arms on either side of his body clutching the reins.

"Hold on." Akefia said. Marik looked around for something to hold on to but found nothing.

"Hold on to wha– ?" before Marik could finish his sentence, Akefia dug his heels into the horse and tugged on his right rein, jerking the horse around and sending them galloping forward. Marik, in shock, grabbed the mane of the horse and pulled himself close, legs desperately clutching at the horse's side.

Once the shock of the ride was over, Marik glanced up. Cool wind whistled through his hair, sending chills of excitement through his body, and he looked down to watch the ground speed by. The horse's powerful hoofs pounded against the sand as they raced against the stars. Behind them, Marik heard the other riders whooping and cheering, urging their horses on. But Kanika charged ahead, true as an arrow, and left the others in the dust.

...

End of Part 1

...

**.:Author's Note:. **So ends part 1 of _A Light in the Darkness_. I've uploaded a preview of part 2 but will upload it separately, so be sure to watch!

Part 2 will occur right after this one, without a time gap. It should be relatively short, however, only a few chapters, and followed by Part 3, where a larger time gap will occur, and will allow for some more romantic developments. Also, if case you were wondering, all the names -are- Egyptian. Look them up.

-DxH


	13. Part 2 Ch 1: The Meeting

**.:Author's Note:. **Sorry for taking so long in publishing this! I finished writing it about a week ago but forgot to post it. Anyways, here begins part II of what I am now calling the Desert Trilogy.

As a note, with the next post I will be changing the name of the series and possibly uploading parts 1 and 2 separately, so watch for an A/N about that. Part one will be called Desert Sands and Part two will be called Desert Winds.

Otherwise, part two is for the most part pre-slash, so though you will find Marik and Akefia becoming much closer (and there will be some cute scenes, even in this chapter), there will be no full-on slash just yet, mediated by the fact that Marik is still only 12 _

Thanks, and remember to review!

-DxH

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**Desert Winds: Chapter 1**

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Kanika slowed to a trot as they closed in on the oasis. Several palm trees and scores of small bushes and patches of dry grass were littered along the brittle earth. A low, mountainous range that Marik had only believed to be a trick of the heat loomed up before them in the glow of the stars. The horses stalked quietly through the still night, veiled in the song of Cicada and owl. Upon reaching the base of the rocky mountain, the horse picked up a familiar trail with newfound rigor, clambering up a steep, narrow road for almost a mile before the path descended and flattened into a dusty trail flanked by the red-rock, brush-coated ravine. The trail was often obstructed by the occasional bush or boulder that had to be gingerly sidestepped, but the horse seemed confident of its step and proceeded at a moderate pace.

Finally, Marik was jerked from a half-awake stupor as the horse abruptly stopped. Marik looked around, rubbing at his eyes and wondering why the horse had stopped in the middle of the trail. Akefia descended off the horse, leaving Marik wide-eyed and gripping at the horse's mane with newfound trepidation. The beast, however, stood obediently still as its master approached the edge of the mountainous wall, brushing his hands over the rock as if searching for something.

Marik glanced at the thief and looked back to see the others descending from their horses. He swallowed and, gripping the horse's mane tightly, swung one leg over its back until he dangled awkwardly over the horses shoulders like a sack of wheat. He slowly slid himself down, unwillingly releasing the horsehair, and dropped to the ground. He stumbled but caught himself before he could fall over.

"Thank you," he whispered breathlessly to the patient horse who had been watching his struggle with faint amusement. Marik finally turned around and took a minute to observe his surroundings.

They were in a small ravine bordered by two mountainous ranges similar to those him and Akefia had been traveling within during their escape, but the rock was a golden color, and of a more brittle, clay-like consistency that crumbled when he brushed a hand over it. A few feet below the narrow path that had bordered the mountain was a small, flat valley of green bushes and dark dirt. Marik swore he even heard the distant bubbling of water. A thick coating of plants, bushes, weeds, and roots were entwined on the wall, reaching endlessly across the rock. Marik looked around for Akefia, but was startled when he'd noticed the thief had disappeared along with half of his band. Panicking, Marik was about to risk joining the remaining thieves, who were unsaddling their horses, when a young boy, hardly older than himself, walked straight out of the rock and towards Marik.

The tombkeeper flinched, startled, and could only stare when the boy approached him with a surly look on his face.

"Are you the hostage?" he asked bluntly. Marik nodded curtly, his eyes never leaving the taller boy's face, half-hidden by the darkness. "What the hell are you still doing here then? Don't make Akefia wait." The boy shoved Marik towards the thieves before turning to unbridle the horse. Marik glanced at him awkwardly and glanced at the others, who had finished unsaddling and unbridling their horses and were releasing their horses into the valley below. Marik ambled up beside them, trying to keep a fair distance. A tall, heavy-set man picked up his tack and began to push past a thick bush of dark leaves and bright red berries, and disappeared into the mountain.

Marik blinked. The others followed suit, pushing past the brush and vanishing into the darkness. He tentatively skirted up to the bush, pushing the thick, unbending stems out of the way, and gaped as a large black hole faced him. A cave, similar to the one they had slept in two nights before greeted him.

"Are you going to stand there all night or are you going in?" Marik jumped at the sound of the sarcastic voice. The boy who had released Kanika was standing behind him, bridle slung over his arm.

"Sorry, I'm going," Marik responded meekly. The boy sighed audibly as Marik pushed past the bush and entered the hidden cave, letting the leaves fall back into place behind him with a gentle rustle. The boy froze, surrounded by darkness. He squinted, trying to make out a direction, or pinpoint the thief's white hair, but he saw nothing.

"Um… hello?" He called out.

"Keep going strait, you idiot." Marik jumped as the boy's biting voice snapped at him from behind. He felt himself being pushed forward and blindly allowed himself to be guided through the damp, narrow, rock corridor until he suddenly emerged into huge, earthly cavern.

The wide expanse was dimly lit by a few torches hung along the walls and a crackling fire that flickered in the center of the cave. White moonmilk glittered ominously from the cracks of fungi-slick walls of cold hard rock. Marik looked up and was stunned to see a gaping hole in the cave where the starlit sky gazed down on him and lit the cave in a bluish hue. The boy behind him suddenly shoved him forward one last time towards the fire where several thieves were gathered before pushing past him and joining the others.

"Are the horses taken care of, Kali?" one of them asked gruffly.

"I fed them, if that's what you mean. It's your job to clean them, not mine," the boy retorted. The thief who had spoken growled angrily but was silenced by the admonishment of another.

"You can put the bridle away, with the rest of the tack, Kali," said a softer voice. "And tell the boy to come over."

"I'm not a message-boy," Kali growled, "tell him yourself." Marik was left frozen in nervous fear as the young boy stalked off towards one end of the cave. The soft-spoken speaker suddenly addressed him again.

"Come here, boy. It's alright, we don't bite," he urged.

"Not that there's much to chew on, if you ask me," muttered another. A round of chuckles went up around the fire, and Marik braved a few steps closer. He didn't see Akefia anywhere, and dreaded that the thief might have decided to resign his promise of safety after all.

"He looks terrified," one of them noted in amusement.

"Wouldn't you, at that age?"

"At his age, I was guttin' sheep and huntin' fowl is what I was."

"Oh show a little mercy will you? You're going to frighten him even more."

"Your face is probably the scariest thing he's seen yet, Chigaru."

"Zaliki, if you fancy your fingers in tact I suggest you shut your mouth right now." Marik couldn't help but feel slightly relaxed by the bantering humor shoved around by the thieves. There was no underlying tension or antagonism neither in the air nor in the flying insults. Marik finally found himself seated awkwardly in between two intimidating men in thick, earth-toned cloaks and tunics, letting the warmth of the fire brush over him. He glanced around the cave, eyes flitting about.

"Akefia isn't here right now," a gruff voice addressed him. He started and looked to his left where the man who had first addressed him and Akefia in the desert watched him with a crooked smile. The man had a wide, angular face brushed by a thin layer of stubble on his chin, a bent nose, and large, drooping blue eyes. A brush of dark hair was draped over his head and tucked into the cloak drawn over his shoulders. Marik swallowed.

"Um… where… where is he?" he croaked, trying to moisten his dry throat. Chigaru motioned to a companion on his left and then turned back to him.

"He's getting looked at by our medical man. Akefia's wound was reopened on the ride here. He needs to get the wound stitched up. The burn was only a temporary fix. He'll need to rest for a few days as well. We need our leader healthy and strong." Marik nodded.

"I see," he said. "He was shot. By an arrow." The man smiled.

"Yes, he was. And I heard you helped pull it out and mend the wound." Marik shuddered and said nothing.

"Why don't you tell us what happened?" asked the gentle voice who had beckoned him over. Marik looked up to see an older, thin man with a long face in a cloak and tunic far too big for him looking at him patiently. Marik bobbed his head and recounted to the thieves the account of Akefia's break in, their deal, and their escape from the Pharaoh's tomb, leaving out only their confrontation with his father and sister and his cold blooded murder. A round of mutters and chuckles accompanied bits of his stories, and Marik even thought he saw one grim-faced man slip a few gold coins to his more triumphant neighbor.

"What a journey!" Chigaru exclaimed with a laugh. "Must have been quite the adventure, sauntering off with the great Thief King like that!"

"I didn't quite 'saunter,'" Marik muttered, "more like he kidnapped me and used me as a hostage." The man chuckled.

"Oh well I suppose that's not quite true, is it? You did make a deal with him. He got you out, didn't he?"

"He did," Marik agreed. The man slapped his knee.

"Well there you go, then! He got you out, and on top of it, he kept you safe and out of their clutches until you were way away. I mean, he could have left you stranded in the middle of the mountains, or worse, in the middle of the desert, and you'd either had been found and taken back or die of starvation or beast attack before they could find you. Count yourself lucky the leader has a bit of a heart."

"Tha's right," another thief joined in, swallowing down a mouthful of alcohol from a bottle that had been making its way around the circle during Marik's story. He was a stout, bulky man with coarse features, yellowing teeth, and a single dark eye, the other hidden behind a makeshift eyepatch made up of a dirty brown rag tied around his head. "'es got a bit o' a thing for pickin' up orphans an' wayward little 'uns, 'e does. 'As a bit 'o a history 'imself, Akefia. Even before 'e was leader, 'e picked up Kali o'er there when th' kid was naught but seven years old. Big 'eart, Akefia. But make 'im yer enemy, and he's a merciless, bloodthirsty killer!" Marik shuddered. He knew all about the cold-blooded killer in Akefia, but a small part of him twitched in curiosity.

"What history?" Marik asked. The man took another swallow and passed the bottle to his neighbor.

"'S'not for me t' say," he simple replied, and Marik had to contend himself with this, because a murmur went up among the thieves and they all turned their attention to his left. Marik looked up and started as he noticed a familiar disheveled head of silvery hair. He stood up in tune with the others, who crowded around the young man. Akefia was being supported by Kali, who looked up at Akefia with a mixture of concern and adoration that almost startled Marik, after only knowing the boy's cold, blunt attitude.

"Give him a bit of space, will you?" Kali snapped at the others, who had huddled around Akefia and were showing him with praise and words of health and welcome. Kali gently sat Akefia down beside the fire and settled himself to his left, pulling out a flask of water and offering some to the thief. Marik settled back down in his spot, still keeping his eyes on Akefia. The others had also resumed their spots around the fire and were now all anxiously looking to their leader. Akefia, Marik noticed, looked paler than usual, if a little green. He was clothed in a new white tunic and a pair of soft, earth-colored trousers, and clutched at his side now and then as if in a lot of pain. Akefia declined the water but accepted the bottle from Chigaru's hands and took a large swig, grimacing as he swallowed. Finally, his tired gaze swept over his crew, flitting over Marik and finally landing on the fire before him.

"The raid on the pharaoh's tomb was, though not entirely a failure, not the victory we had expected." Akefia's voice was hoarse and dry, but resonated through the cave. "The security was much tougher than I had expected, and though I managed to break into the Tomb Room, it seems the puzzle has also disappeared." A round of grumbles went up. "I did, however, locate the Millennium Rod, and the Millennium Necklace. I was unable to obtain the necklace, as its location was unknown and I did not have enough time to further investigate. I did not, however, return empty-handed." With this, Akefia withdrew from his tunic the Millennium Rod, still sheathed which glistened eerily in the firelight. A round of gasps and mutters went up from the thieves, and several bent over to see it more closely. Marik shuddered, and for a heartbeat he could still see the red blood smeared over the blade of the rod. Akefia turned the rod in his fingers, unsheathed it and brought it to his face.

"The Millennium Rod gives its user the power to control the mind and will of any person." The white-haired thief chuckled hollowly. "Is such a thing really worth the pain and sacrifice it demanded? Is such a power really able to be used for good? A tool of slavery and torture." Akefia slid the Rod back into his robe and sighed deeply. Suddenly he looked up and his eyes perused the circle of men until they landed and rested upon the young tombkeeper.

"Marik," he said quietly. Marik blinked, fidgeting nervously as he noticed the eyes of all were now on him. Akefia turned to address the others. "To those who were not out on the lookout squad, this is Marik Ishtar, son of Aknadin Ishtar, the last Tombkeeper. Marik is my hostage as much as he is a guest, and no harm will befall him. The boy, if anything, still has his uses as a member of the Ishtar clan. He, of all people, may be able to tell us where the Millennium Items can be found." Marik swallowed as he watched the others' hard gazes on him. Most were simply curious, but several were distrustful, even menacing. He quickly looked down.

"I suppose you have introduced the others, Chigaru." The man blinked and slapped his knee.

"Heavens, I must have forgotten my manners," the man exclaimed. Akefia shook his head and gestured towards the grinning man.

"This is Chigaru, my loyal second in command. Beside him is Zaliki," he pointed at a small, cheeky-faced man with a wide smile, "Amun," a taller, lean man in robes of dark purple with deep olive skin, "Hasani," a black African with a bald head and a single gold hoop in one of his ears, "Masud," the thin man in the oversized tunic, "Mbizi," a large, hulking man with a menacing glare, "Tsekani," a lean young man with large, wide eyes, "Atum," a shorter, more heavyset man with a lazy eye who was fiddling with his dagger, "Odion," a younger, quiet-looking man with long dark hair and thin eyes, "Sebak," a short, bald-headed man with a row of missing teeth, "and Kali," the familiar boy sniffed in derision. Marik nodded in polite greeting to each one as they were introduced, trying to sort out the friendly-looking ones to those he preferred to avoid. "Our medicine man Kamuzu is still cleaning up the mess of blood I made." Several men chuckled. Marik did not find anything amusing about this.

A few minutes later, some of the men got up and returned with a whole goat and a basket of various fruits and loaves of bread. Dried seeds and potato slices were handed out, and everyone was given a chunk of bread to chew on as the goat roasted on a spit over the fire. Mouth watering, Marik devoured the cooked meat almost as soon as it landed in his hand, burning his tongue in the process. Despite the messiness and general lack of manners around the company, Marik found it to be the most delicious and filling meal he'd ever eaten. Several minutes later, the thieves were picking the last of the meat off the goat's bones and licking their fingers clean with a new bottle of alcohol, which Marik discovered to be a very strong kind of strong, aged wine, as the fire faded down to a low glow of embers.

Akefia stood to his feet, brushing off Kali's offer of assistance and looked down at the hushed audience.

"I'm off to rest as I still need to recuperate. Marik will stay with me for now. We will discuss further plans tomorrow. Chigaru, meet me at your tent in five minutes, I need to talk to you about a few things." With this, Akefia gestured towards Marik and began limping towards the far side of the cave. Marik hesitated then rose to his feet, nodded awkwardly to the others who wished his a goodnight, and hurried after the thief.

Marik caught up to Akefia right as the leader of the band of thieves reached the edge of the cave, where a large tent of fabrics and carpets was set up on wooden stands hammered into the earth. Akefia disappeared behind a large flap and Marik shortly after followed suit. Inside, the ground was covered in camel skins and thick blankets of wool and fur pelts were strewn about the room, along with several artifacts, scrolls, and bags tucked in the corners. Marik and Akefia's unloaded packs were also sitting at the end of the tent. Marik watched as Akefia wandered about the room, bending over to collect a few scrolls and some of the bags of riches before returning to the entrance.

"Make yourself comfortable. I still need to talk to Chigaru about a couple of things. You can sleep anywhere." With that the thief pushed past him and exited the tent. Marik stood awkwardly, taking in his surroundings before he sat himself down. He tugged at a woolen blanket and draped it over himself before lying down, using a woolen pelt for a pillow, and closing his eyes.

Marik shivered. A cold breeze rustled the tent and sent goosebumps crawling over his arms. He pulled the covers higher over his shoulder but couldn't seem to get rid of the cold which invaded his body. Memories of a night so long ago and yet so clear thrashed through his mind, sending shudders along his spine. The act was nothing but a blur – but the aftermath continuously haunted his mind. He knew what he'd done, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Marik choked back a sob, squeezing his eyes shut, and buried his face in his hands. Ishizu. Rishid. His home. His life. It was all gone. He could never return – never take back what he had done. The young Egyptian could practically feel Anubis' teeth grazing his throat, glistening gold eyes piercing his soul and unveiling all his sins.

_You did nothing wrong._

_Shut up! This is all your fault! Marik whispered hoarsely. I faked a look of shock and hurt._

_My fault? I only helped you attain what you desired, dear Marik? How can you accuse me of providing you freedom?_

_It's not what – I never wanted that to happen!_

_There was no other way._

_There must have been! I shook my head._

_Your father would never have let you leave. Not alive. I only did what was necessary. The young boy whimpered, easing a small smile from my lips._

_Besides, I said, touching his cheek gently, I am simply a part of you. Thus, you can't deny that you never desired this to happen._

_I almost grinned at the look of horror that dawned upon his wide eyes._

_No… I never –_

_I laughed._

"Hey kid, you alright?" Marik started as another voice reached his ears. He turned his head to see the ivory-haired thief standing at the entrance of the tent, a gentle light from the candle he led in one hand flickering across his face. Marik nodded wordlessly and sunk further beneath his covers. Akefia shrugged and walked over the boy to his own pile of covers. Marik heard the rustling of fabric as the man slipped off his tunic and eased beneath the covers with a grunt. Another breeze flickered through the tent, sending chills down his spine.

Akefia glanced up at the body of the young tombkeeper. His frail back was turned towards him, the flickering flame of his candle making the scars on his body dance and jeer. The body shivered suddenly, curling itself into a ball and practically disappearing into the covers. As hard as he'd tried to hide it, the thief had seen, if briefly, the red rim around the boy's eyes, and the smudged trace of tears along his cheeks. Akefia narrowed his eyes.

"And what do I care?" he growled to himself, blowing out the candle. The thief settled comfortably on the straw, pulling the covers over himself. The night was quiet save for the chirrup of the cicadas and the occasional call of a nocturnal hunter. But Akefia could also hear the trembling. He cracked open his eyes and glared irritably at the shuddering figure beneath the covers, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight peeking from behind the flaps of the tent. He sighed.

"Hey brat. Get over here." The body beneath the covers stiffened, and a mess of blond hair poked out from beneath the covers. "Hurry up. And bring your blanket." Marik, confused and wary, crept out from beneath the covers, shuddering at the sudden bite of the cold, and crawled towards the dark figure a few feet away. He stopped next to him, uncertain of what to do. He opened his mouth to say something, but the slender, pale hand of the thief suddenly shot out and snatched the woolen blanket, flinging it over his own covers, before grabbing Marik's wrist and pulling him beside him.

Marik immediately stiffened as he found himself within Akefia's arms, pressed against his chest.

"It's warmer now right? So shut up and sleep. We have a lot to do tomorrow." Marik said nothing, only tried to hide a smile and accepted the thief's awkward generosity by nestling in closer. Despite his small body, Akefia's skin was hot to the boy's cool touch, and wonderfully inviting. Everything suddenly felt infinitely warmer, and all his fears, doubts, anxieties, disappeared as the touch of sleep closed his eyes and whisked him off into a land of dreams.

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**.:Author's Note:. **

There. Is that cute and cuddly enough for now? Anyways, I'm also wondering whether nor not to shift some of the writing and simply set this back to ancient Egypt. I just feel like it would be much easier to write, considering the characters and setting. There -was- a reason why It was set in the modern age which would be revealed at the end, but I feel that I might just change the ending slightly, or adapt it for more ancient times. What are your thoughts?

-DxH


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